


The Language of Knots

by hobbitsdoitbetter



Series: Ties That Bind Series [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thor Movies, BAMF Frigga, Clint Needs a Hug, F/M, Family Secrets, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Has Issues, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Post Avengers Asgard, Pre-Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Protective Avengers, SHIELD Agents Being Badass, Valkyries Being Badass, Warning: Loki, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 38,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitsdoitbetter/pseuds/hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prisoner, jailer. Trickster, trick. The past comes back to haunt Loki as he is brought to Nornheim to be tried for his crimes. But with the Norns out for justice, the Avengers out for payback and the Chitauri out for vengeance, all that stands between the trickster and a painful death may be childhood sweeetheart Sigyn- Now the Valkyrie charged with his protection. But can Sigyn be trusted, given their history?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Purpose

_Disclaimer **:**_ This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Beta read by the divine BlueNBlackRoses. Rated T for some dark situations, suggestions of violence and mention of the sex trade. Nothing really happens on the page but be aware all the same. Enjoy!

**PROLOGUE: PURPOSE**

"I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose."

Eyes on him as he says it.

Men about him, women too. So shocked by his appearance that they stop what they are doing. Stare at him- interloper, stranger, thief- as if he were some fabulous beast conjured from out of a bard's tale. The hum of great things whispering in the air, so much magic he can smell it- taste it- And it's all within his grasp. All so soon to be his. To his left he can hear a great heart beating, one true and joyous and filled with pride. One that beats only for him, one that has called him all this way. One that he will never, ever tire of listening to, no matter what the universe throws into his path. For that is precisely why he has come all this way- He is here for his prize.

And his prize is right in front of him.

All else is darkness and loneliness and the silence-between-stars' light.

And so he reaches out, the prize's nearness intoxicating. Beauty- peace- love-all flowing over him. All of it, there within his grasp. Loki raises himself up from his knees and walks forward, confident now, aware that all eyes are on him. Feeling a smile transforms his features, his thoughts going to the glory of this day, to the actions of his brother. To the staff in his hand, and how it feels like it belongs there, how this feels like it was all meant to come to pass. But this is real. This is not a poet's imagining. He is here and he is ready and soon all the Nine Realms will know it-

So he brings his staff up before him, holding it out in readiness.

Showing the crowd what they can expect from him, from a Prince of Asgard, what to expect from Odin's son.

There is a beat of silence-of hope-of anticipation-and then Loki finally lays his hands on what he knows is his-

He wakes in his cell in Asgard.

Soaked in sweat, his heart pounding, and not for the first time he curses his memories and wishes his mind were truly lost.

 


	2. Chapter One: Prisoner

_Disclaimer_ : This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Betaed again by the divine BlueNBlackRoses.

**CHAPTER ONE: PRISONER**

She appears precisely three days after the dreams return.

Loki watches warily as she approaches. Silent, tense and fully armed, her shield held tightly to her body, her armour flashing dully in the cell's milky light. Beautiful face as lovely as he remembers though they have spent so many years apart. To her right he can see the Lady Sif, her weapon held just as tightly, her dark eyes focussed so thoroughly on him that he wonders how Thor could ever be comfortable under their scrutiny. Her expression disdainful, showing clearly that she has no wish to be where she is but that she dares not disobey Odin's command. Neither woman bow to him-  _not exactly surprising, that_ \- and neither woman acknowledges him as their Prince or leader. They just stare at him, the Lady Sigyn's large, amber eyes blank and distant, Sif's angry and openly scoffing. Her elegant, thin fingers sliding reflexively down the length of her blade over and over again, as if needing to remind herself that it is near at hand. Loki knows that he shouldn't do it, knows that it is unwise and pointless and infinitely cruel to behave so in this company. Knows also that the likelihood of his actions having their desired result is somewhere in the region of nil. But he still smiles his most charming, flirtatious smile at Sif, ignoring her companion completely-

"Hello, sweet," he says to the warrior maiden.

If his words bother the Lady Sigyn she gives no sign of it.

For some reason he does not wish to fathom her apathy sets a vicious anger burning in his gut.

Not that he is so foolish as to show it however. He knows what Sigyn is now and he knows why she has come for him: She has been dispatched by the Norns, his would-be judges, and she will doubtless report anything he says back to her mistresses in the Halls of Justice. That is the purpose of a Valkyrie, after all. But still, for her to not even acknowledge him- He cuts the thought off viciously, the remembrance of what they once were to one another and what they would never be again setting his teeth on edge. The fact that it was he who set out to thwart her and not the other way around mattering not at all since she hasn't given him the pleasure of reacting to his slight. From the corner of his eye he sees Sif gesture curtly for him to leave the cell: With the Bifrost still damaged and his cunning with inter-dimensional travel so notorious, it appears they have decided not to risk transporting him using magic. It explains why he has more than one guard-

_A Valkyrie would normally think it beneath her honour to require any aid._

So he is marched down the corridor he recognises as leading towards the craft-hanger. Watching Sigyn though she keeps her eyes straight ahead, her face expressionless. Telling himself that he's not waiting for something-anything-that will reveal what she thinks of him now. There's so little of the laughing, lively girl he remembers that he almost can't believe it's really her. But it is.  _He **knows**  it is_. He knows her tread, knows the sweet smell of magic which seems to trail after her wherever she goes. Knows her rose-gold skin, the only evidence left of her origin as a fire-demon now that she's chopped off her mass of beautiful, flame-dripping hair. His mind flashes back to the last time he touched that hair, the last time he felt it curl and slip and slide through his fingers, scapegrace and thrilling as magic-  
He stumbles, irritated with his own ungainliness, and pushes the memory angrily away.

It hardly matters though: By this point they have reached the prison craft, its doors guarded by several nervous-looking Asgardians. The royal family is nowhere in sight; Loki tells himself that this doesn't surprise him-  _After all, they were never truly his family._ And the ache in his gut? That isn't hurt. He will not allow it to be hurt. The Warriors Three are standing to the side, Fandrel staring with ill-disguised worry at Sif, his hand resting lightly on his blade. They have little desire to see what has become of their prince- Loki knows this- and he can't help but smile wickedly as he sees his so-called friends shift guiltily in their places. Can't help his glee at their inability to meet his eye. He opens his mouth to say something cutting but as he does he feels a noose of magic close around his throat, effectively stealing his voice from him. A heavy, dampening blanket of power wrapping itself around him and all but dragging him forwards, the strength of it unlike anything he's experienced since he ceased studying magic with his mother. He throws a slightly disbelieving look at Sigyn-This cannot be the work of Sif- but once more she says nothing-

She merely meets his gaze steadily, amber eyes to blue ones.

The magical noose tightens more firmly around his throat but he resolutely does not look away.

Sif must realise that something is going on for the warrior woman nods to Sigyn then and steps away from the vessel. Moving fluidly to stand beside Fandral, her fingers finally leaving her weapon to twine through those of her irritatingly handsome companion. His hand coming down to delicately brush the knuckles of her right fist.  _Couldn't get Thor_ , Loki thinks scornfully,  _So she's found herself a substitute._ _They're both stupid, boorish and annoyingly blond- I'm sure she'll be satisfied._  He lets his disgust at the small display of sentiment settle on his features; As if reading his expression Sigyn gestures with one hand and yanks him into the prison craft, his feet very nearly leaving the ground. His body smacks into the control-panel at the craft's nose though he notes with a twinge of pride that his hands are too tightly bound to do any damage: So Sigyn is his mother's clever apprentice still.  _Or maybe she's just used to transporting dangerous criminals and this is merely another chore with which she has been tasked._  But Loki does not believe that. He cannot. He will not let himself think that he is just another errand to her. Besides, there is no conceivable way that the Norns, with all their meddlesome curiosity, could be unaware that one of their Valkyries was once betrothed to the younger prince of Asgard-

And there is no way that she could have forgotten him.

They were heart and hearth, wine and honey to one another once upon a time.

_That that time is not now does not really signify to Loki, and deep down he knows it never really will._

But there is no time for such thoughts now. Sigyn enters the craft, that blank, emotionless look still on her face. Gestures carelessly with one hand as the craft's doors slide shut and immediately Loki finds himself pressed tightly against the wall to his left, his arms held straight to his sides, every muscle in his body straining with the force of his confinement. His shoulder-blades digging painfully into the wall at his back though he refuses to give a sign of the discomfort, too proud to ask her to loosen her hold even if he were able to speak. The magic draws tight like a vice, holding him viciously in place as Sigyn takes the craft through its take-off procedures: In some ways it's worse than the journey from Midgard since magic itself has been turned against him and magic had hitherto been his tool.As the craft begins to rise he tries to push against the bonds which hold him, tries to loosen them. Sigyn uses fire magic but it's not so different from his own and he should be able to beat her-  _He **should**  be able to get free._ But before he can make any progress he feels the butt of a something long, heavy, and (he suspects, entirely lethal) dig into the skin behind his ear-

The metal is so hot it pinches, leaving a mark against his Jotun-cold skin.

"Attempt to get free- Attempt to move," she says quietly into his ear, "And I will end you,  _dunachai_."

He never thought his childhood nickname could sound so cold but coming from her it suddenly, inexplicably is.

"For all that we were and all that you did for me I have thus far allowed you the courtesy of consciousness," she continues. "Do not make me regret that choice, Prince of Asgard- And do not struggle, for you will not enjoy the result."

And with one last pointed, stinging jab of her weapon she makes her way back to the cabin. Leaving him staring at her, nonplussed, as she pilots him towards his fate and ignores him as magnificently as only a former princess can. He doesn't even want to look at her but he can't help himself. Doesn't want to ask her questions though he knows he probably should. Instead he closes his eyes and replays her words again and again, the lilting music of them soothing despite their threatening nature. The nearness of her after all this time apart both a balm and a sting on his conscience, an ach that rests on his heart. He knows he should plot his escape, knows that when he gets to Nornheim he will merrily entertain himself with trying to get free every single day. But right now he can't. He doesn't want to.  _Sigyn was always the only net in which he **wanted** to be caught, and it seems she is that net still._ So he watches her, watches this woman he once cared so much for. Tells himself that it's to ascertain her weaknesses though deep down he knows that isn't true. Because he still wants her. He knows he will want her until the day he dies. And that knowledge helps him not at all. She doesn't look at him once the entire flight but Loki finds that he cannot look away from her for even a second-

He doesn't want to think about what will happen when she is finally briefed on his crimes, so he doesn't.

It doesn't occur to him to wonder whether she wishes to know either.

 


	3. Chapter Two: Valkyrie

_Disclaimer_ : This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine. 

**CHAPTER TWO: VALKYRIE**

Sending her had been a mistake.

Sigyn sighs, her eyes on the control panel in front of her, her thoughts on the man behind. The man she had trussed more tightly than a mad fenris-wolf with magic, the man referred to in popular ballad as the Butcher of Midgard. The man she had been betrothed to, once upon a time. Before her a vast canopy of stars is spread, tiny pinpricks of illumination wavering against the monumental, oppressive blackness of space. Energy and magic and time out of mind eddying sinuously around the ship, trying to lure it from its path, trying to snare it-

_And if she didn't keep her attention focussed then they might well succeed._

But how can she? How can she concentrate on anything with Loki Silver-Tongue bound behind her, anger and malicious magic pouring off him in waves? Every breath seeming to heave with hex-craft, his rage and sorrow like a physical, clawing thing within the small confines of the craft. Sigyn knows that the life of a Valkyrie is one of hardship; Knows also that she had a certain… reputation for bringing in difficult prisoners, a reputation she well deserves. But surely this goes beyond the call of entirely? Surely the Norns could- should- have sent someone else? Alruna perhaps, or Karnilla. Or even, the goddess protect them, Aud. For though Sigyn knows it is foolishness she cannot treat Loki as if he were just another prisoner. She can no more distance herself from her feelings for him than she can will her heartbeat to cease. All those years of study and play and fierce devotion, all the joy of her time in Asgard… All of that could not be willed into oblivion for the sake of one arrest.

And yet she knows that her history with him is the very reason she was sent to fetch him in the first place.

That nobody else could be entrusted with him eases the ache in her heart not one bit.

So she pushes the pain sternly away. Remembering her Lady Verthandi's words as she assigned her to Loki. Remembering the desperation of the men of Midgard- _Rogers, Banner_ \- who had travelled from their home to make sure that the former son of Odin answered for his crimes. Inwardly Sigyn sighs: She has memorised the names of Loki's victims, the better to keep her distance when she saw him again.  _The better to remind herself that the boy she knew is gone. **Dead.**  _And she repeats those names to herself now, like a prayer, like a litany. As if they can somehow make her immune to her heart, to the memories of how much she loved him once upon a time. Marisol Villas, her mind whispers, a serving girl in downtown Manhattan. Jan Richter, an old man in the wrong place at the wrong time who attracted the attention of the would-be King. Eleanor Buchanan, a secretary with three young children in some realm called Yonkers. John-Paul Flaherty, a protector of innocents like her, a police officer sworn to uphold the law who left behind an infant son he will never get to see. Desiree Watkins, Paul Jensen, Natalie Bartlett. Miriam Sonnenfeld, Jane McCluskey, Thomas Michael Soames. These people were not the soldiers but civilians, Sigyn reminds herself sternly. These were the very people the Norns and their Valkyries are sworn to protect. And Loki Lie-Smith-  _she will not call him by any other name, she tells herself_ \- Loki Lie-Smith butcheredthem. He murdered them in cold blood without ever once stopping to weigh the cost. So why she should be worried- angry- at what she encountered in that cell in Asgard is a mystery to her-

And yet she  _is_  worried. She cannot help it.

She may not willingly admit it out loud, but she knows deep down that she worries about him yet.

For when she entered his cell in Asgard the first thing which struck her was not her prisoner's anger, nor his madness (which she suspects is merely pretence on his part and wishful thinking on Thor's). She was not struck by his vanity, or by his heartbreak, or how terrifying he was. How feral, how monstrous he'd become. No, she had expected him to play up any or all of these traits in order to get under her skin: She'd seen plenty of prisoners do as much and worse over the years and none of them had ever touched her heart. No, what had struck her in the cell on Asgard had not been his vindictiveness nor his lack of repentance for what he'd done. It had been her absolute certainty, standing in that room, not that Loki was a monster but that Loki wanted to die. In that room. In that moment. In any other. With a passion both wild and unerring, a determined set of mind which chilled her to the bone. His taste for oblivion had come off him in waves, so strong it had nearly knocked Sigyn down, nearly sat on her chest and choked her-

And if he wants to die, she thinks now, queasiness rolling in her stomach, then this strip of space is an excellent place to make it happen.

She somehow doubts that his former love for her will prevent him from doing something stupid in order to escape the life he so seems to detest.

And with that sobering thought she finally orders her mind to stop wondering and focus on the task at hand. For they are nearing the planet Nornheim, and with it the end of their journey; There is no more dangerous stretch of space in all the Nine Realms, and people die making their way here every day. The Norns' world lies within the outer rim of a black hole, its entire existence an act of defiance to the laws of physics. The fact that it has not been torn apart yet one of the few remaining mysteries in the Nine Realms though most scientists hate being reminded of the fact. Passage to its centre-point, the Nornkeep, is perilous: Avoiding the debris- _matter, energy, magic_ \- which circle around the fortress, unable to escape its gravitational pull, is no easy task. And flying a craft as cumbersome and clumsy as this one is no mean feat either, considering the cosmic eddies which regularly toss and jostle the ship-

And as if summoned by the thought the ship lurches, encountering some eddy of energy even the Asgardian controls cannot identify. Making the craft dodge with a sickening tumble before Sigyn manages to right it again. The Valkyrie grits her teeth, turning as much of her attention as she dares from Loki's magical bindings to the craft's trajectory; This part of the journey will require all her focus if they are to make it to Nornheim in one piece, let alone alive. Time storms have been known to assail interlopers here, tossing them far back into the past or heedlessly forward into the future if they survive impact at all. Pieces of other worlds have been known to appear suddenly and disappear in front of vessels, products of mischance which can crush a craft in seconds or send them spiralling planet-ward to their doom. And if one makes it through all that, there is the magic which surrounds the place like a death shroud, whispering to anyone who passes it. Old magic, wild magic, the kind that does not respond to invocation. The kind that thinks only to occasionally grant a sorcerer favour, that might ask for his life or his hearts-blood in the next minute in order to repay the boon. It is this magic which Sigyn fears Loki will call upon, this magic she fears will seal both their fates. This magic which will come so easily to him, as all magic always has. For in his passion for death he might think to take her with him and if there is one thing Sigyn will not give up for a man it is her life-

_Long ago another man- a worse man- tried to force that from her and she swore she would never, ever give another such power after she set herself free._

And so she holds fast to the craft's controls though she can feel Loki struggling against his bindings now. Her attention raggedly focusing on the upcoming cosmic currents, their presence signalling the ship's arrival inside the mouth of the wormhole and the last leg of their journey. Behind her she can feel the noose of magic she wrapped around Loki's throat beginning to give way as her attention leaves it. She stopped his voice first so that he could not chant invocations but she knows well that he does not need to speak in order to cast- It is one of the reasons he is so powerful a sorcerer. Loki pushes the noose free a little more and she does not tighten it, does not give any indication that she is aware of his actions though she knows he is about to try that something stupid she was worried about.

_And here,_  she thinks,  _he always used to say that stupidity was Thor's calling, not his…_

But Loki forces the noose a little looser and Sigyn growls to herself, subtly feeding a little more of her own strength and will into his bindings to counteract it. She'd rather have him working openly in a way that is obvious to her than show she is aware what he's doing. That might force him into clandestine sabotage or worse yet, open attack. The ship is buffeted on another inexplicable patch of inter-stellar turbulence but she doesn't let go of the controls and she doesn't turn her attention completely from her prisoner.  _Loki Lie-Smith will **not**  beat her today._ It becomes a game of wills, her trying to keep her attention on him and the path to Nornheim at the same time. Feeding just enough extra energy into his bindings that they stay secure about him, allowing him to believe that what he is fighting is the innate magic of his bonds and not any fresh power conjured by herself. Loki struggles and croons, charms and bullies the magic surrounding him. If it were anyone else responsible for his bindings then he'd be free now, and the thought warms Sigyn's heart more than a little bit. Her hand slips down, past the the weapons on her hip to the rope she carries with her. She hasn't attempted to put it on him yet- the magic of a Valkyrie's rope is bound to Nornheim, it only works there- but if he keeps pushing she may have to try it, even in so dangerous a situation. Even if it means turning her attention to him for a lethally long length of time. The ship is buffeted again by something the instruments cannot identify and Sigyn frowns, unsure why she's encountering so many unusual anomalies when she knows this region of space so well-

Which is when, naturally enough, she sees the Chitauri craft appear in front of her.

It is also, naturally enough, the moment Loki slips his bonds and lunges free.

For a split second Sigyn stares at both catastrophes, unsure which one requires her attention more since both could reasonably kill her-

And then the Chitauri craft opens fire and the die is cast.

 


	4. Chapter Three: Witness

_Disclaimer:_ This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine. 

**CHAPTER THREE: WITNESS**

_Meanwhile,_

_On Midgard,_

_Sir,_ Jarvis' voice sounds,  _apologies for the intrusion but I'm receiving a call from Inspector Koch: Should I put him through?_

And Clint Barton sits up in bed, soaked in sweat, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. The horror he'd been dreaming of-  _blood, red hair, the sound of a woman sobbing_ -,  _"Nein, bitte,_ _ **nein**_ _,"_  -setting him shivering in his bed and cursing himself awake. To his right he can see the digital clock blinking eerily: It's just past 2 am, and he knows that if he wakes up now he'll never get back to sleep. But still he nods, rasps out a dry, "Sure, Jarvis," as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. The sudden shock of the cold floor against his feet making him wince. The knowledge that whatever Matthias is calling him about at this hour can't be good setting his teeth on edge. But despite all that he forces himself to stand, shrugging on a clean(er) tank top from the pile on the floor since the one he's wearing is obviously sweat-soaked. Wills himself not to remember what he was dreaming about, even though he knows the subject of that dream is more than likely why Matt called. After all, when he'd asked Koch to look into his time with Loki six months ago, he'd known what the man found wouldn't be pretty-

_If the nightmares were anything to go by, then what the Inspector found wouldn't be pretty at all._

Despite that depressing thought though Clint still forces himself to sit down in front of the video-conferencing screen in his living room, stopping only to raid his fridge for a beer and turn on the small wall lamp beside him. He'd put on his room's full lights but then Natasha might realise he was up and come check on him, and if there was one person he  _didn't_ want listening in on this call it was definitely Nat.  _Clint was determined that she would_ _ **never**_ _know the extent of what he'd done with Loki at the wheel_.There's a moment as Jarvis' patches Koch's call through and then the German inspector's face appears, bedraggled though wearing his usual sardonic smile. A paper cup of coffee in his hand, a ridiculously cheerful purple beanie hat on his head.  _Must be cold in Stuttgart,_ Clint thinks though he doesn't say it inspector raises the cup as if in salute, his grey eyes tired and wan, breath misting in front of his face-

"You look like shit," he says by way of greeting.

For Matthias that passes as sweet talk.

"Couldn't be assed getting pretty for you," Clint growls back. "Now what the Hell do you have for me? Or did you wake me up at two AM to braid my hair and bond?"

Koch grins, pleasantries exchanged, and gets down to business. It's one of the reasons Clint asked him to do this: The man doesn't know the meaning of diplomacy when he takes on a case. They worked together in SHIELD's Berlin field office and Hawkeye watched Koch alienate every single supervisor either of them had without batting an eyelash, starting with Abigail Brand and ending with Pete Wisdom. He was like the proverbial dog with a bone, Matthias-

_Which is why they were both here._

"I found her," Koch begins without preamble then. Clint doesn't have to ask who he's talking about: The "her," of his dreams, the "her," of his nightmares. The redheaded woman he's terrified Loki used as a substitute for Natasha, a prop in all those fun games the trickster played with bestest little soldier boy. Anger roils in Clint's stomach at Koch's words, fear along with it: He's been expecting this, he tells himself, ever since he asked Matthias to look into his nightmares. He's just not sure he wants to know what Koch has turned up, now he has something… actual.  _Something that's really… real._ He's been good for months now, been taking his meds, been going to the counselling sessions. He's even managed to talk about it- kinda- with Banner because he figures out of all the so-called Avengers the Hulk's the one who understands unwitting and unwilling carnage the most-  _Just like he understands what it does to your trust in yourself._  But even with all the prep Clint still has to steel himself, has to prepare himself to listen to whatever the inspector has turned up.

Something about that weird way Koch's looking at him, like an old man wearing a young man's face as armour tells Clint that the story he's about to be told isn't of the happy, cheery kind.

"Her name's Anna Bacik," Koch says then, holding up a photo. A pretty redheaded woman who looks a little like Natasha looks back at Clint. She's got a massive black eye and what looks like a fractured jaw but other than that she looks uninjured.

_Though that's plenty hurt for a civilian, Clint knows._

"She's a prostitute," Koch is saying, "Serbian national, smuggled in a couple of years ago. Has a wrap sheet of course, though my bosses are far more interested in the men who brought her into this country, which is why they haven't deported her. These men have ties to vice and the drugs trade- Big fishes, isn't that what you say in the States?"

Clint nods wordlessly and Koch doesn't try to divert his attention again. He knows Barton didn't ask him to come aboard for his way with small talk.  _And neither man wants to give Clint a reason to emotionally react._

"She didn't report you, if that's what you're thinking," he continues, his voice noticeably softer now. The knots in Clint's gut tighten at the words. "She didn't even go to the hospital, which is a lot more unusual here than in your decadent, capitalist state."

Koch grew up in the GDR so communism jokes were kinda par for the course, Clint knows that.  _Of course, wailing on capitalism is also a good way to distract him from feeling so Goddamn shitty, now he has the evidence of what he and Loki did together right before his eyes._ But he won't dwell on the thought.

"Why didn't she go to hospital?" he forces himself to ask instead, still staring at the photo. As he watches an icon appears at the edge of the screen to inform him that Koch has passed a copy of the photo and some files along. He somehow doubts they're light reading-

_Call it a fucking hunch._

"She says the men who sent you to her would not like her getting their friends into trouble," Koch says, his eyes narrowing in as he watches Clint's reaction. If anything's going to set him off, they both know it's him being described as a friend of the scum he worked with while he was mind-fried. Nothing happens though; If Banner can keep his temper most of the time then Clint supposes he can too. "And besides, she has a little boy- Couldn't leave him for that long," Koch continues. "No child-minder, and nobody to cover her. So she just took some pain killers and called it a bad day at the office. Went to bed, same old same old."

Clint grits his teeth, the sickness in his stomach churning worse.  _And the hits just kept on coming,_ he thinks. _He not only beat up a non-com, he beat up someone's_ _ **mom.**_ "So she took a night off and then just went back on the street like that?" he manages to grit out. "Just went back to her corner and got on with it?"

Koch's expression is grim. "Yes, she went back out. Not a lot of choice in the matter. Got picked up a couple of days later for an altercation with a client and the arresting officer noted the injuries. She described you and Loki when she was pushed- That's how I found her- but the medical report seems to indicate she thought she'd hallucinated it." Koch shakes his head. "Might be easier on her if it stays that way-"

"Would it be easier on you?" Clint demands. "Would it?"

Koch mutters something in German so quick that Barton doesn't catch it, but when he answers his voice is quiet. A simple "No," is all he says.

A beat.

"Drugs?" Clint asks eventually. Not that he really needs to know the answer. But he doesn't like the silence.

_Too much fucking silence in his head, now that Loki's gone._

"Yes," Koch answers tiredly. "Heroin, the nurse thought. Though you know without doing a tox' panel we can't really be sure. I can speak to her if you want-"

"No." Clint shakes his head, cutting that line of inquiry off before Matthias can get into it. He can't bear thinking about that: If anyone should speak to her it should be him, but he somehow doubts seeing him will help. And yet not facing her seems like the worse kind of cowardice he can imagine.

_As often in the last six months Barton pictures Loki Odinsson's dead body falling before him and suddenly his chest doesn't feel so tight._

Koch seems to understand. "There may be others," he says, as if preparing to end the phone-call. "Should I keep looking, or would you prefer I stop?"

Clint shoots him a look he learned from Natasha. It basically translates as  _keep that shit up and you lose your testicles._ The message must be understandable in German because he sees Koch straighten up, give a darkly amused shake of his head. "Keep going with it," Clint says quietly, his eyes going to his beer. There's nowhere else he wants to look and he guesses Koch knows that. "It's the least that these women deserve from me."

The detective shrugs. "All right," he mutters. "Is there anyone else you specifically remember, or should I just nose around some more?"

Barton forces himself to smile. "You're good at nosing around," he says, "So go for it. If you find out about any more… collateral damage then let me know, yeah?"

"Are you sure about that?" Koch asks. His voice is still heavy with worry.

His eyes seem to bore into Clint though the archer doesn't look away.

Instead he sighs, and suddenly, not for the first time, he feels really fucking old. "Yeah I'm sure," he says. "The girl- Bacik- she needs anything, you let me know about that too." Koch cocks an eyebrow and he shrugs. "I helped save the world, Matthias," he points out. "Government job oughta count for something. I'm earning me a big boy paycheque now."

Again the executioner's grin. "That's right, I forgot," Matthias says. "You're an Avenger now, aren't you? Don't you find the spandex chafes?"

Clint can't help his tired grin. "It's a Kevlar body-weave," he points out, "And as for chafing, you betcha. But that's more the Captain's area than mine. Now let me get back to sleep and go bother some unsuspecting member of the Stuttgart establishment, yeah?"

And with that he and Koch say goodnight and he downloads the files the detective sent him. Folds himself messily into a lazy boy and finishes up his beer. He falls asleep again, his mind adrift with nightmares and hatred and the sure knowledge that he wants to kill Loki Odinsson with his bare hands- Wants to erase him from existence- " _Nein, bitte,_ _ **nein**_ _,"_  Anna Bacik sobs inside his head, her voice tearing at him-

He doesn't see Natasha tiptoe away from his door and he doesn't hear the worry in her voice as she sighs and heads back to her own bed.

And he doesn't find out Loki's prison ship has disappeared until the next day.

 


	5. Chapter Four: Descent

_Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended._

**CHAPTER FOUR: DESCENT**

The world is spinning.

Loki knows that this is an illusion, knows that it is the damaged craft in which he is travelling and not the outside universe which is in motion. Knows also that the dropping sensation in his stomach has more to do with fear than motion sickness despite the fact that the surface of Nornheim is growing large on the ship's view-screen with ever more alarming speed. But he cannot concentrate on that now, he  _will_ not. There are more terrifying things taking his attention at the moment than his possible-  _no_ , he amends,  _make that_ ** _probably imminent_** \- death. Because he can  _feel_ the Chitauri calling to him. Taunting him. Insulting him. Their voices scratching inside his head like hoar-rats. Their presence both goad and challenge, the fact that he knows they have come for him and care not what they must do to get him setting his teeth on edge.

_We come for you and we come for the girl,_ they whisper _._

_We know her name, we know what she is to you. We know that you wept for her when you were in our hands._

_You will not stop us, sorcerer. You cannot. She will be sport for us._

_**After all, we know that you hav** _ _**e never been able to keep her safe** _ _._

Rationally, Loki knows that their threats are probably meaningless. He has been through enough battles to recognise the intimidation strategies of another army for the cheap conjuring tricks they are. And he had assumed that the Chitauri would try to take him: He had just rather hoped it would happen while the men of Midgard and their pet beast were about, the better to watch his enemies burn. But the threat to Sigyn? That… annoys him. Shivers at the edge of his mind like a wolf ready to pounce, a thing of teeth and wiles and malice even if it is set loose in pursuit of a worthy cause. For while intellectually he accepts that Sigyn is a Valkyrie and thus must, by definition, be a physically intimidating opponent, Loki cannot quite see that when he looks at her. Armed, shorn-haired and armoured as she is she still looks like the twelve year old girl he first met in Asgard.  _She still looks like the little girl he so wanted to protect_. She is trying to right the ship's careening trajectory, her fingers moving over the controls with quick, elegant precision even as she tries to repair the damage the Chitauri have done. The fact that it's not working setting anger flaring through her, the fear she hides so well from others trembling through her frame. For a moment Loki considers reaching out and augmenting her magic with his, setting both their wills to the task of protecting each other and slowing their descent-

But before he can there is another flare of white light from the Chitauri craft and their ship simply tears apart with a speed which both terrifies and astounds him. For a split second all is starlight and silence and then suddenly-  _Suddenly-_

He feels himself gripped in what seems like a giant's fist.

Loki is no fool and he knows what happens to those exposed to space without the aid of a craft. The people of Midgard call it explosive decompression, the people of Asgard the sea-maids' death. And that is what he thinks this sensation is for a moment, the horror of what is happening to him almost over-ridden by a relief so palpable it steals the strength from his limbs. The thought that this might finally be over more blissful than he would ever admit. But before he can examine that response- _before he can even really acknowledge it_ \- he feels himself yanked towards Sigyn with a strength he finds surprising. The touch of her magic reaching out to him, enfolding him as if in an embrace. There is no sound in space so he reads her lips as she tells him, "This is going to be difficult. I need you to hold onto me. And hold your breath,  _dunachai._ " The sound of his childhood nickname on her lips is surprisingly reassuring, her arms small and strong and steady as they wrap about his waist. He feels so safe, as if not even the Chitauri can touch him, and it is true that he can no longer hear their voices in his head. She tucks herself into him, her head against his chest, her feet standing on his. She seems so small and so fragile that for a moment he almost forgets whose magic is wrapped about them, whose strength is keeping them in one piece.  _Almost._ But then-

Then, they begin to fall.

Slowly. Inevitably. Terrifyingly.

They begin to careen towards Nornheim and there is nothing Loki can do.

For the planet reaches up for them, the tug of its gravitational field a hungry, scapegrace presence in the corner of Loki's mind. Their descent becoming ever more haphazard the closer to the surface they get. The bubble of magic Sigyn has wrapped about them draws in tighter then tighter still, the pressure of holding out that much space and gravity and pressure a drain on Sigyn's life force that he suspects she can ill afford. Her face turning pale, her body visibly shaking there against him. The cost of saving them both written all over her frame. Loki reaches into himself, throwing off what little remains of the magical shackles she placed on him and channelling his sorcery. He tries first to open one of the gateways he used to use to flee Asgard but he finds that he cannot. There are stories about Nornheim, stories about its… character, and in this moment Loki can well believe them. He can well believe that the home of the Valkyries has a will of its own and is reaching out to protect one of its daughters. To make sure her prisoner does not escape.  _But still,_ he thinks,  _for mercies' sake_ … Some flash of light explodes to his right and he belatedly realises that the Chitauri vessel is pursuing them. It's openly firing on them and he doubts that Sigyn's shield, wondrous as it is, can take a direct hit. Panic surges through him, adrenaline along with it. In that moment he reaches out again, pleading with whatever power holds influence over this portion of space to help him- help him save them both-

_Please,_ he thinks,  _please, I've failed her once, don't make me fail her again._

_I cannot bear it if I am responsible for bringing her more grief._

And as he thinks that he feels the portal finally open beneath him, willing as the arms of a lover. The welcome whisper of sorcery- mastery over his destiny- tumbling through his veins. He edges towards his freedom, Sigyn's body held closer to him, triumph making him grin despite everything-

But just as he disappears inside it he feels control of it ripped from his hands by some unseen force as the Chitauri craft enters too.

Rage explodes through him as once again both his destiny and his magic are yanked out of his grasp.

But he cannot ponder that now. Travelling through a portal is supposed to be fluid, easy and instantaneous: This journey is none of those things. He and Sigyn are tossed and smashed about like driftwood in a sea storm, hurtling and crashing into one another even as they are sped towards their destination. His arms now holding  _her_  firmly,  _his_  frame now taking the brunt of the assault. They do not so much emerge from the portal as are spit out, Loki rolling to take the force of the impact, Sigyn landing on top of him. The Chitauri vessel- not much bigger than theirs- tumbling out after them. Its form pathetic and scorched and war-hungry though- _like its fellows in the Siege of Manhattan_ \- it still wears a monsters' maw. Those teeth open wide now, discharging four Chitauri soldiers, their armour glinting palely in the light of Nornheim's three moons. Their weapons held defensively before them, malice coming off them in waves. Loki forces himself into standing, trying to move in front of Sigyn, to shield her. If he can distract them, he thinks, she might be able to get away.  _And so, if she's gone for long enough, might he._  But as soon as she sees the warriors she drops to her knees, tears in her eyes, her shoulders shaking. Her mouth opening to take in a heaving breath, an almost-sob wracking her chest.

"Thank the Goddess you're here," she whimpers to the Chitauri soldiers. "I thought nobody would find me. I thought nobody would save me from him. I thought- I thought I was as good as dead-"

The front two Chitauri lower their weapons in confusion, looking back to one who is obviously their leader. The one at the back, the tallest, steps forward.

He trains his weapon on Sigyn and Loki likes that not one bit.

"Get up, Valkyrie," he hisses. "Your tricks will not work on me. I know what you are. I know what you do"

Suddenly Sigyn's voice is low. Bell-like. Dangerous. "Aye. I thought you might do." And as quickly as the tears appeared they vanish. A slow, almost feral smile taking their place. She straightens herself up to her full height, her hand dropping down to the weapon on her hip, a flame-whip.

Loki hears the hiss as she prepares to set it loose.

"But I must thank you," she is saying, "for saving me the trouble of working out which one of you is in charge of all this- And how your men react to the unexpected. That's good information for my sisters to know when they decide to join the hunt." She leans forward, her tone mock-confidential. "We're not allowed to kill the prisoners, you understand. So a legitimate target will be much appreciated." Her gaze turns positively wicked. "Though not for long."

And without warning- before Loki can stop her- Sigyn picks him up using her magic and smashes him bodily into the two nearest Chitauri. Knocking him straight through the two aliens and through the hull of the ship to its interior. Caring not that the force of the blow could well have cracked his bones. Caring not that he was trying to save her just moments ago. He hears the hiss of the fire-whip unfurling, sees the light of its flame against the interior wall of the ship as it lashes towards the Chitauri officer-

And when that officer's severed head sails through the air to land at his feet it occurs to him that whatever he sees when he looks at her, Sigyn is a little girl no longer.

_Not that it really matters though_ , he thinks, forcing himself back into standing.  _Because now- Now the battle is well and truly begun._


	6. Chapter Five: Sentiment

_Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended._

**CHAPTER FIVE: SENTIMENT**

_Loki couldn't quite believe she'd done that_.

True, he'd been through worse- A man who's been subdued by the Hulk must, by definition, consider anything less a disappointment. And it wasn't as if the Valkyries weren't known for their vindictiveness in the field: One of the reasons they were so feared throughout the Nine Realms was that they followed no law but that of Nornheim.  _They brought their prisoner in no matter the cost_. But still… When Loki had last seen Sigyn, she had been weeping soundlessly at her father's side as he dragged her from their wedding. Her entire body shaking with the strength of her distress, her amber eyes silently begging him to say something- anything- which might bring the situation to a halt. It seemed impossible that that girl could have become the cold, calculating warrior who'd just used him as a baton with which to beat her opponents-

_But then_ , he thinks darkly,  _considering what he's done to her he shouldn't really be that surprised._

As always when faced with the remembrance of his perfidy though, Loki pushes the thought viciously away.

But the hurt remains. Even though he tries to deny it. Even though he knows it is pointless to entertain. The urge to flee rises steadily within him along with the guilt, waves of fear that might drag him under, a tide so much bigger than him that he fears he might drown in it.  _Might truly discover that he is nothing but an outcast, a monstrosity abandoned in the snow_. And as always when he feels that way the urge to lash out stalks free, this thing within him made of claws and teeth and cruelty. This thing he has fashioned into both sword and shield and justification in keeping him from all harm. Without really thinking about it he gathers his magic to him, preparing to attack Sigyn: With his ability to open portals he can make his mark and then disappear, he knows this, leaving her behind to deal with the Chitauri craft and the fallout from his actions.

_And it's not like it would be the first time, now would it?_

So he forms two balls of energy with his fists, crooning to them, feeding his own rage into them in increments. Magic is powered by emotion and what he feels when Sigyn is around is so much more volatile than anything he usually permits himself. But even as he takes aim- Sigyn is taking the remaining three Chitauri through their paces so her back is to him- he feels that touch of hesitation. Hears that pathetic, mewling inner voice that wanted him to spare Thor on Stark's roof, that wept when Odin cast him off. He hesitates for a second too long-  _what does one more sin matter,_ he asks himself,  _considering how steeped in them you are already?_ -

And in that moment Sigyn's gaze locks with his, her eyes narrowing. She lashes out at one of the Chitauri with her fire whip, splitting him in two even as she forces her staff into the belly of another. Knocking him backwards and flicking the fire-whip to catch around his throat, detaching his head from his shoulders as easily as she dispatched his commander's just moments ago. The ball of energy slips through Loki's fingers, some emotion he doesn't want to name gripping him as he watches her slam her staff down into the throat of the final Chitauri and use it as a pivot to push herself off the floor. Her feet smashing into the remaining alien. Knocking him onto his back with a bone-tearing crunch, the weight of his sharp, spiky armour providing no protection at all as she smashes her staff into his skull in a spray of blood and brain matter and he goes still.

But she's not finished. Quick as lightning she re-furls her fire-whip, tossing her staff easily into the same hand as her other hand grasps for something on her belt. Power, great power, shudders through the air and again Loki feels himself lifted off his feet, again he is smashed into the Chitauri craft with enough force to expel the air from his chest. In that weightless moment when the impact shudders through him he feels something tight that positively bristles with magic slip around him, as loving and as vicious as his family's false embrace. He looks down to see a glittering, pulsing cord angled around his feet. It yanks tight, binding his legs together even as Sigyn draws him back to her as if she were pulling in a particularly heavy haul of fish. His mind registers the danger too late, realisation of what the cord  _is_ coming to him: It's a mother-line, the Valkyries' most famous method of incapacitation. An unbreakable, inescapable rope given by the Norns to their daughters, the last of the old, high  _Disir_ magic left in the Nine Realms. No criminal has ever slipped free of it. No magician has ever mastered it.

_And judging by the look on Sigyn's face, she's thinking of using it to wring his neck._

It clears his focus, narrows it as nothing else would. He will not be caught by her, he will not be snared.  _A trickster can never afford to be bound._ And if he meets his death, it will be at a time of his own choosing. He will not be anyone's prey. Purpose fills him, the balls of magic re-forming at his hands even as Sigyn yanks him the last couple of meters towards her. He waits until they are nearly face to face and then releases both projectiles, an image of her injured body blossoming in his mind, setting his pulse racing even as guilt at the thought tightens his chest. She ducks though, rolling out of the way so that both shots explode messily against the Chitauri craft but do not harm her. One does, however, knock a nasty piece of shrapnel into Loki's hand though he forces the pain away. By accident or design she pulls him to the ground and he lands on top of her, his weight pinning her momentarily. Breath to breath, heart to heart, the sensation as entrapping as a velvet cage. But before he can press the advantage she's on her feet, smashing her foot down into his solar plexus even as he grabs her ankle and tries to force her off-balance. His legs kicking, trying to find purchase as he pulls her down, the urge to have her pressed against him again something he would rather die than examine.

His efforts do not work though: Without warning her skin goes up in flames-  _she_ _ **is**_ _a fire-demon, after all_ \- and the effect burns him painfully. It's been so long since he's had to protect himself from it that he hisses, annoyance at himself for not seeing such tactics coming the only distraction she needs. Sigyn pulls her foot back from him and kicks him into lying, yanking the mother-cord more tightly about his ankles as she does so. She hops onto his back, resting between his shoulder-blades like some fierce little bird of pray, and then loops the rope around his throat before he can stop her. Pulling it tightly. Yanking his legs bent as she does so, the display of strength unexpected in one so small. Instinctively Loki tries to struggle, stretching out: The movement pulls the mother-line tighter around his throat though, choking him, and as he writhes he realises that she's attached his legs to his neck by means of the rope.  _Which is why this all hurts so much._ Any movement in one part of his body will tighten the knot around the other: It's simple, neat. Elegantly effective.

_And, he is forced to admit, annoyingly difficult to slip._

In frustration he lets out a string of the filthiest curse-words he knows, some of which she taught him. His hands are still injured- shrapnel and fire have both damaged them- but he should still be able to get a grip on her. He almost succeeds but again she burns him, her flesh so inferno-hot that he knows she must be purposefully trying to hurt him. The pain nearly agonising, his hands curling in on themselves in spite of his best efforts, his clothes catching light and forcing him to roll against the grass to put out the flames. She hops free to let him do it, landing with surprising grace beside him. He snarls at her in pain and frustration and she picks up her staff, bashing it into his throat and robbing his voice. He lunges at her, she lashes out at him-  _he didn't like the shape of his nose anyway-_ and drives him backward. Blood and tears explode in his vision at the blow and while he is blinded she binds the end of the mother-line around one wrist, then the other. Loping the rope around his throat again, securing him completely with a speed he cannot quite believe.  _Thor never attacked him like this._ Rage explodes through Loki, more furious than anything he's let himself experience since his brotherly battle on the Bifrost. Pain. Frustration. A humiliation that is Not. To. Be. Borne. But his snarl is choked, his liberty torn from him-

He is as helpless as a child and he knows it.

He glares at Sigyn with unmitigated loathing and silently swears, then and there, that he will never,  _ever_  think a kind word about her again.

"Stay there," she says then, lowering her voice, her hand reaching out to stroke the hair out of his eyes. It's such a gentle gesture that it mystifies him, and some tiny part of his anger trickles away. He snarls at himself in rage at the realisation, hating it. Hating her. Hating everyone.

_Hating that he remembers the last time she touched him like this, the last time he truly felt safe._

"I'm going to go inside the craft now," she's saying. "I think I've spotted another Chitauri. It seems their leader was clever enough to send out a decoy, for I can't imagine one of the foot soldiers being allowed to stay behind."

She brings her fingers to her lips and murmurs something against them; magic sizzles in the air as she brings her hand down to stroke across his mouth, her sorcery binding the skin together so that he cannot even speak. More settling into the ropes so that they will act as a suppressant against his magic, ensuring that whatever he might want he's not going anywhere. It's not painful though Loki knows the spell can be made so and once again he feels baffled at her softness.  _For surely if she could treat him as harshly as she just did she must be angry at him still?_ But before he can ponder the answer to that she's risen, pausing only to lash the remaining end of the mother-line to the Chitauri ship before picking up both her staff and her fire-whip. The light of the latter glowing brightly as she unfurls it, illuminating the interior of the Chitauri ship with a warm, almost cosy glow. With one last, wary look over her shoulder at him Sigyn moves forward and out of his sight, entering the alien vessel-

There is a moment of silence, the muffled sound of distant voices and then the unmistakeable sound of a woman screaming.

But it is only when two figures tumble out of the ship to land before him, their bodies locked in combat, that Loki realises just how much trouble he's actually in.


	7. Chapter Six: Bait

_Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended._

**CHAPTER SIX: BAIT**

_How did he_ _**do** _ _this to her?_

Sigyn sighs as she moves gingerly into the maw of the Chitauri craft. Telling herself she had been wise to attack Loki. Reiterating to herself again and again that her self-doubt and worry over her reaction to him were a distraction she could ill afford.  _But she can_ _'_ _t help it_. As soon as she'd seen the Chitauri her first instinct had been to secure her prisoner: It was a Valkyrie's first and most sacred duty, and she'd be damned if she let some interloping alien take Loki from her when he needed her protection the most.

_And yet_ …

She knew she'd been harder on him than she'd had to be. Knew she'd been trying to provoke him into a fight with her, trying to get their inevitable battle out of the way before the tension got one of them killed.  _And trying to prove to herself while she was at it that she wasn_ _'_ _t as rattled by his presence as she knew she was_. But it hadn't worked and frankly, she didn't know what else to do. It seems like he had lost the will even to fight with her, and that thought set a tremor through her. When he'd been so cruel and callous in his cell she'd had actually welcomed it: At least he'd been behaving like the villain she knew him to be and not some helpless, lost pup. And during her battle with the Chitauri, when he'd raised his hand to strike her, he'd looked so much like a wrong-doer, a criminal a Valkyrie could be proud of herself for having apprehended. But when he dropped his hand, when he wouldn't hurt her though she gave him every justification-

_That_ broke her heart. Confounded her. Reminded her of the boy she'd loved.

And so here she found herself, walking headfirst into danger whilst her sense and her heart continue to be twisted about by Loki Odinsson.

_Needless to say,_ she muses,  _this is_ _ **not**_ _my finest hour as a Valkyrie._

Not, she reminds herself, that she can dwell on that thought though. Because right now she is venturing inside a Chitauri craft, the first of her sisters to do so, and so she had better get her mind back in the game.  _The Norns were counting on her for their plan-_ _ **all of their plans**_ _\- to succeed._ She scans the area around her, unfurling her fire-whip and using it to illuminate the interior of the vessel. The dull light reveals what looks like a metallic cave, ganglia of technology sweeping down like vines, a dull glow of something organic that omits a heartbeat drawing her gaze to the back of the ship. She increases the heat and the light from the whip, checking to see if the heightened temperature has any effect- it doesn't- before making her way to further inwards. Her destination now the glowing, veined muscle of light which she can see pulsing in the very depths of the ship. Sigyn reaches out to touch it, wondering if the craft could be organic-  _is she harming a living being by touching it? Is_ _ **that**_ _the secret of the Chitauri_ _'_ _s technology?-_ And as she does so two things happen simultaneously.

Firstly, the ship itself shudders like some giant beast stretching itself in its rest, taking her feet out from under her.

And secondly, Loki appears out of nowhere, his sorcerer's staff in his hand, and proceeds to bring it swinging down with vicious force on Sigyn's head.

Only years of training save her: Without a second's hesitation she rolls to the side, knocking at Loki viciously with both feet even as she tries to find purchase on the rolling surface of the craft's interior. Scrambling to get off her back when the ship steadies, the knowledge that it might literally swallow her whole now uncomfortably close to her thoughts. She flicks out her staff though and smashes it towards Loki's nose, deciding to table her questions about the craft and how he got out of the mother-cord for another time. Simultaneously swinging her fire-whip down towards his legs even as she strikes out with her fist. The effort to take his legs out from under him is unsuccessful however: He dodges both her blow and her whip, darting to the side and getting some distance. The motion somehow liquid and unnatural, the movement of a being whose skeleton is not made of muscle and bone.

Sigyn narrows her eyes, instincts going on alert: She has watched Loki Odinsson for years, and she knows him. Knows the way he walks, the way he fights and runs and sleeps-  _And he does_ _ **not**_ _move like that._ Nor do the illusions he conjures. She sees understanding flicker through her opponent's expression, a smug, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his lip as he sketches her a jeering bow. His eyes alight with the malice she saw in the footage of him from Midgard, his body swaying with unnatural speed as he dodges blow after blow. This is the fight she was expecting in Asgard and she brings it. Trading blow for blow, parry for parry, the ship staying mercifully still as the two dart and twist around one another, theirs a dance both lethal and wild. But then-

Then the ship lurches again and suddenly his hands are reaching out for her throat, his form now twisting like that of some sort of snake. Winding around her more tightly than his real life counterpart could ever manage. Her feet leaving the floor as her opponent uses his greater height against her, her legs swaying before her like a rag doll's. His fingers find their target and suddenly she can't breath, the air caught off as fully as if she were enclosed in a vice: He reaches down and licks the newly-forming bruises on her face, his breath coming in rapid, staccato beat.

"You're every bit as lovely as he said," he whispers in her ear. She can feel his spittle against her earlobe, sense the thumping of a heart very different from her own between her shoulder blades. "I thought he must be lying," the creature murmurs, "but you're quite the little pet, aren't you,  _bitre_?"

Sigyn swings her legs forward, rage at his use of that childhood endearment giving her strength. Tries to knock them both off-balance, but the bastard's stance is certain and he wavers not one bit.

"Now, sweet, can't have you hurting yourself." The creature actually tutts at her and she is reminded, ridiculously, of her nursemaid's reproaches when she was a child. "Besides, I have a trick to show you,  _bitre,_ and I don't want you to ruin it-"

"You don't have permission to call me that," Sigyn hisses.

Only Loki had ever asked for that right, and only he had ever been granted it.

_Not that she_ _'_ _s sure why_ _**that** _ _is the salient point right now._

The thing's smile is chilling though. "Oh, I know. He spoke of it often, when he was still young to our hospitality." The smile turns almost nostalgic. "He may even have wept it, once or twice, when I had fully tired him out." He tightens the grip on her throat. "He preyed for you, did you know that,  _bitre_? A kingdom, a family and a world lost, and yet all he truly mourned was you." And the False Loki gives a snickering kind of laugh, his shoulders shaking. "Such a romantic, that boy is," he murmurs. "Still pining for the girl he would have made queen."

Loathing drenches Sigyn to her core.

"But as I said," the creature continues, "I have a trick, and I won't let you spoil it. I did not come all this way to have the sorcerer's little concubine steal him away."

And as the thing speaks, its voice becomes softer, more feminine. It takes a moment, however, for Sigyn to realise that the thing's voice is now a mirror- an exact mirror- for hers. Just as she realises that it lets out a long, ear-splitting, entirely feminine scream, the sound echoing through the Chitauri craft. It takes only a moment for Loki to force his way through to the craft's interior-  _Sigyn had forgotten that she_ _'_ _d punctured it when she threw him the first time-_ and when he enters the craft he charges in as if Death itself were at his tail.

"I can see you, Chauri," Loki spits then, his voice livid. He has managed to get his legs free-  _how in blazes did_ _ **that**_ _happen?_ Sigyn wonders- "And this time you're all alone without your toys and your pets. This time you are without your army. Without anyone to torture or to harm. And that being the case-"

He shows the creature his teeth. Magic spits and sparks around him like wildfire. "That being the case, you will take your hands off Lady Sigyn.

And you will never touch her again."

The creature- Chauri- laughs though, the sound strangely musical. Loki winces when he hears it, as if it were an actual blow though his opponent lies prostrate at his feet.

"Oh, I don't think so, little princeling," it murmurs, a sliver of amusement still moving through its words. "In fact, I don't think I'll be leaving the little poppet alone at all. She'll make a nice hostage for your cooperation, the girl you would have made queen.  _The girl you wouldn_ _'_ _t let burn._  For you've a debt to me and mine, Loki Odinsson, and now is the time you will pay it-"

The creature's eyes glow, something rancid and fetid, something that might almost have been magic- or perhaps its ghost- stealing through the craft's interior. Loki and Sigyn both react with horror at the sensation.

"Or you will watch her and every living thing around you tremble to ash and burn."

For a moment all was silence, the trembling, angry sort which shivers through the air before a battle. But then-

"As you wish," Loki says.


	8. Chapter Seven: Tinderbox

_Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine._

**CHAPTER SEVEN: TINDERBOX**

"No," Sigyn says, and for once her voice is not calm or measured.

In fact, her face is ashen.

Loki turns to look at her out of the corner of his eye, surprise at her words causing him to raise his eyebrows in bewilderment. Fear and adrenaline and rage are hammering through him but he truly did not expect this. Because after all, it's not like he's going to  _stay_ with Chauri: She'll be dead as soon as her back is turned and he can find something sharp or heavy and Sigyn must know that.

_So why is she bothering to argue with him?_

"Why not?" he asks, making sure to keep one eye on Chauri. He has learned through painful, bitter experience to never take his eyes  _off_ Chauri. "It's the most realistic plan- Give the Chitauri what they want and rid yourself of the Butcher of Midgard-"

"Damnation,  _dunachai_ ," Sigyn snaps. "I do not want to be rid of you-"

His lip curls in disgust. "Is that why you used me as a baton to beat up those Chitauri troops?" He has the pleasure of seeing her look harden. "Because you don't want to be rid of me?"

She glares. "I did what I had to do. I would do it again. But I will  _not_ hand you over to that, that  _thing-_ Not now, not ever-"

He shows her his teeth. "This isn't your choice-"

"The blazes it's not."

"I do what I want-"

"And that's worked out rapturously well thus far-"

AndSigyn flicks out her fire-whip at the words, glaring angrily at Chauri. Earning a smug, rebuking smile from the alien in return which doesn't disappear even after she brings the heavy, ornate handle of the whip smashing down into her nose. Her staff flashing out with unmerciful force and punching straight into the Chitauri princess's knees, taking them out from under her as she darts protectively in front of Loki. The creature grins again- "How romantic,  _bitre_ " _-_  and for a split second Loki flashes back to the last time he saw her looking like this. Her instruments making pain snap and spark through his body like lightning even as her father looked on and smiled, applauding his child for her torturous ingenuity _-_

- _Applauding the spilling of Loki_ _'_ _s blood and her own-_

He feels an echo of that pain jolt through him now, distracting him from the task at hand, and he pushes the memory- the weakness- savagely away.

Because he cannot afford to be distracted now. Hope, wretched, mewling thing that it is, has sparked to life in his chest at Sigyn's words and he knows that if he does not control it that hope will rage out of control. Take that tinderbox heart of his, set it alight once again.  _And no good can come of that._ Better then that he hide in the rage and the fear and the bewilderment bubbling through him. Better then that he not listen for kindness which shouldn't-  _demonstrably isn_ _'_ _t-_ there in Sigyn's voice.

_Better_   _he persuade her to give him up_.

So Loki lets the anger spread through him like a fever, blocking everything else in that tinderbox heart out. His shame at remembering Chauri's treatment of him, his anger and fear at Sigyn's danger and distrust mixing and roiling together until they seem to be one and the same thing.  _A heartache so massive it could block out the sun_. With a snarl he moves towards Sigyn, summoning the magic that has been spitting through him ever since he realised that his torturer had found them. Conjuring three different copies of himself even as he prepares to face her, each glamour armed with a different weapon, the energy he forces into them making them more solid than most. His usual illusions have no substance and cannot fool even a moderately talented sorcerer: Their success against Thor is entirely the product of his oafish brother's ignorance. But Sigyn trained with him and she will not be confused by them- If he is to use them he will have to endow them with both form and his own, destructive will.

_It is therefore just as well that right now, he is feeling_ _**very** _ _destructive._

So he rounds on her, determined to force her back until he and Chauri can make their escape. The glamours fan out to surround her, the first, armed with a broadsword, swinging the blade down at Sigyn as she darts out of the way. Flicking out at the glamour with the fire-whip, gesticulating with short, jabbing gestures and muttering a quick incantation under her breath which blows the illusion apart as if it were smoke. Loki hisses in annoyance, lending the glamours more substance to counteract her magic; He won't be able to sneak away with Chauri quite so quietly as he wanted if he has to stay and control his creations. But one way or another, he  _will_ get away.

He's fallen too far to allow anything else.

The second and third glamours rush Sigyn then, trying to take her down by numbers. One armed with two short knives, the other with a staff very like the one he used to hunt with on Asgard. Sigyn glares at them, clearly knowing what game Loki's playing. Swinging the fire-whip out again and cutting through the staff-bearer. Flinging the whip away to wrap around Chauri, the alien princess screaming in pain as the flames burn her skin, any thought she may have had of sneaking away clearly lost in her agonised screams. Sigyn's (now free) hands go to her staff: With a short, sharp pull it splits in two, both parts elongating, her small, elegant hands spinning them with practiced ease. She doesn't even look at the dagger-bearing glamour as she drives one stick into its heart, muttering another, stronger incantation which rips its fabric apart. The illusion shatters and she rounds on Loki, the sticks moving faster and faster. Not a trace of hesitation in each movement, her gaze locked on his. Again hope twists its knife in his chest, again he pulls away from it. He presses his fingers into the pads of his hands, soundlessly releasing the daggers he has hidden deep within his armour. The Asgardian guards had found all his other concealed weapons but these respond only to his call. He feels the knives in his hands, cool metal against hot skin. Forces down the protests of what he might once have called his conscience in order to deal with the matter at hand.

_He will only hurt her a little,_ he reasons,  _but Chauri- There are no words for what he knows Chauri will do._

_And no matter what happens, Chauri will never get to do to Sigyn what she did to him._

So he lashes out and spins, his arm a wide arc, slashing lightly at Sigyn. She brings one of her staves up to block the blow, though its strength knocks her slightly back. He parries again, this time missing her skin by a hairsbreadth, the terror and power of it sending exultation darting through his limbs. They move together, their interactions almost a dance, so different from most Asgardian combat methods-  _But then he has slightly more elegance than the average bildshnipe, and so, he must admit, does she._ Sigyn twists out of the way, his greater height forcing her to duck and scramble backwards, the unexpected shifting of her weight causing her to nearly slip. Loki grins, a tiny pinprick of triumph lighting in his heart even at so small a victory, rounding on her with the knives, driving her back. She rights herself and ducks under his arm, making him to spin around and face her. His blows are coming quick and fast now and she's losing ground as she defends herself. Skittering backwards into the Chitauri craft, worry beginning to etch itself across her face. The beast inside Loki roars in triumph, that irrational fear of her it has always experienced making it even more vicious-  _Soon,_ it whispers,  _soon you_ _'_ _ll cut her open and you_ _'_ _ll never have to care about anything ever,_ _ **ever**_ _again-_

But even as he thinks this she flicks both staves up, smashing one into his stomach, the other his jaw. He teeters and his head hits the side of the Chitauri craft, the creature heaving at the contact. Too late he realises that her falling back was a ploy, a way to force him into tighter quarters. What advantage his height gives him over her is nullified in the more cramped confines of the Chitauri craft. Rage, that hard, blunt, brilliant thing inside him snarls again, telling him to redouble his efforts.  _It's not just about escaping now: He actively wants to_ _ **win**_. This time he uses his magic in a different way, appearing and disappearing around her, each burst of magic just a little more draining than the last for all that he manages to land some good blows. The shiver of magic produced in the split second before he rematerialises is almost as effective a warning as a bell however: Sigyn unerringly smashes her weapons into the area in which he reappears, his disorientation at using his magic making him easy prey.

"Stop fighting me, Loki," she keeps muttering. "Stop fighting me! I do not wish to hurt you any more-"

"Stop saying that," he snarls at her, and he means it.  _He will not let her make him hope._ "Stop lying, it doesn't suit you,  _bitre_ -"

And then suddenly it doesn't matter. From the corner of his eye he sees Chauri manage to wriggle free of the fire whip: She raises one scarred hand towards Sigyn, pale flesh elongating and turning claw-like as she reaches for the Valkyrie's throat. The thing within Loki bays in triumph, the desire to see Sigyn brought low hissing through his chest-  _He will win, he will win, he will win this_ -

But when Chauri's hand is just about to touch Sigyn he reaches down suddenly and grabs her. Swings her around and out of the Chitauri's reach. It's easy, and it's unexpected, and he can't quite work out why he's done it. After all, he's angry with her, isn't he? He's decided he's going with Chauri-  _He_ _'_ _s decided he's going to_ _ **kill**_ _Chauri, just not in front of Sigyn-_ So why should he care if his jailer dies?

_Why should he put himself in that Chitauri bitch's venomous path again?_

No answer is forthcoming though, at least none that he likes. Chauri's flesh makes contact with his, her fingers dragging through his hair and scratching the skin, hard enough to draw blood. Once again he feels revulsion rise within him, the memories of all she did to him for her Emperor making his every nerve shudder. The shame of it nearly blocking even his anger at Sigyn out.

Acting more out of instinct than strategy he yells, swinging his left hand back at Chauri: The creature must not have been expecting it because the blow makes contact, the knife puncturing muscle and sinew with a sickening, horrible thud. Chauri's eyes go wide, her face finally dropping Sigyn's appearance completely. A couple of shallow, painful breaths heaving through her chest. But then she smiles, the amber bleeding from the irises as they turn green again. Her face contorting until it's her own form she's wearing, long, green-black hair pooling around her shoulders, elegant, pointed years appearing beneath her helm. She puts her hands on Loki's, there where he holds the blade, and twists again. Gasping in rapture at the pain of it, her blood spattering against his armour, his skin, even as her spine arches like a bow.

"That's it, sweet," Chauri murmurs. "That's it, make me bleed for you-"

She leans down and pressed her thumb into the gore where he's cut her, smearing it slowly, deliberately against her lips. Sucking her thumb as she does it, her eyes trained on his.

"There's the one I remember," she's murmuring. "There's my beautiful, monstrous pet-"

"No." Loki tries to pull away, not wanting to watch, not wanting to remember.  _The only intimacy Chauri is capable of involves pain._ But though he tries to pull back she has a good grip on him and the blade. Her fingers wrapping tightly around it, for all he seeks to retreat. With a loud curse Sigyn smacks the Chitauri with one of her staves but it makes no difference.

Chauri's grip is dead-woman strong.

"Tell the three dowagers they can have you, Loki," the creature says then, her voice going husky with blood loss. "Tell the thieving empresses that they are welcome to your worthless, lying hide." And she reaches forward, her breath fanning his face: Like everything about her, it is rancid.  _The feel of her against him is a bitter, bitter weight_. "Because I've gotten the best of you, Loki, haven't I?" she mutters. "I've gotten even more than your little Valkyrie got…"

And with that she leans forward and kisses him, hard on the lips, her last breath rattling through her. The taste of her repellent, the feeling of her burning against his skin. Chauri lets go of him and the blade, falling backwards, her body quaking. She looks at Sigyn and there is… There is the closest thing to peace Loki has ever seen in her eyes. But her smile is still malicious when she says, "We are going to skin you alive and use you for our amusement, do you understand me, Valkyrie?"

Sigyn says something that sounds like, "I honestly believe you're going to try."

But Loki can't be entirely certain, for as soon as Chauri closes her eyes his consciousness is ripped away from him as swiftly as if a hand reached into his mind and stole it. A blackness so profound even the fall from the Bifrost seems a pleasure in comparison. He just has time to register pain-  _fever, sharp, terrifying fever_ \- and then he's falling, falling, falling…

Into darkness…

Into starlight…

He doesn't even hear Sigyn calling him to come back to her. He doesn't feel her tears on his skin.

He is gone, lost, free from her.

Unfortunately- though he does not know it- Chauri is not.


	9. Chapter Eight: Politics

_Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended. Unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine._

**CHAPTER EIGHT: POLITICS**

_Meanwhile,_

_On Midgard_

Thor arrives the next day.

_And Clint might have been imagining it, but the guy looks kinda_ _…_ _freaked_.

He comes marching through the helicarrier, looking far more warrior than prince. A dark-haired, female Asgardian he identifies as Lady Sif at his elbow. The hammer Mjolnir hanging heavily at his side. SHIELD agents dart out of the way, eyes downcast as they take in his anger, his worry. His stride meaning that everyone save Steve has to hurry to keep up. But he just keeps going. Not looking up, not stopping. Barely giving Fury a glance before he tersely indicates that he requires a room in which to speak to his team and then taking off at a similarly fast clip. It's unnerving:  _The only thing that might halt his journey is a full-on collision with the Hulk_ , Clint thinks,  _and that_ _'_ _s not really the kinda thing we should be hoping for_ -

Thor leads the assembled Avengers into the helicarrier's main conference room and turns to face them. "Forgive my abruptness, my friends," he says quietly, "But I come bearing very bad news."

_And in that moment Clint somehow knows_ _**precisely** _ _what Thor is going to say._

"You lost him."

He hears his own voice say it without preamble, the tone utterly uninflected.

The rest of the room starts at his abruptness- Natasha excepted- but Thor merely gives one quick, sharp nod.

"Aye. At least, we believe that is what has happened." And for a moment the Asgardian's gaze darts down towards the surface of the conference table. His brows drawn together in a pinched, worried frown. But then he looks up, forcing himself, it seems to Clint, to meet the room's gaze.

Suddenly the archer can see what the weight of the news he's bringing is doing to the elder Odinsson.

"The craft carrying him to Nornheim was attacked within a stone's throw of the planet," Thor continues quietly after a moment. "The Norns will not tell us anything but I believe they do not know where my brother or his Valkyrie are."

A beat of silence of that, a group inhalation of breath. Hill looks so damn pissed Clint is surprised she isn't screaming questions and Tasha's grip on her sidearm has tightened painfully, her brows drawn together in an angry frown. But Thor meets their eyes without trying to look away, bearing the attention calmly.

_Seems he_ _'_ _s gotten used to apologising for Loki_ _'_ _s actions long before now._

"So you're thinking jail-break?" Rogers says tensely, breaking the silence. Clint can't help but notice the terse way he says it, so different from Steve's normal, open tone. But then Cap has gone toe to toe with Loki; He knows the kind of punch the Asgardian packs.

"Yes, I believe it may be so," Thor says. He looks slightly relieved to be answering direct questions. "Though if it is, Loki has made history. Nobody has ever escaped a Valkyrie before; Their order are known for the doggedness of their pursuit-"

Tony snickers. "Well, the boy mullet's always been kinda special, hasn't he?"

Thor winces but does not correct him as he might once have done. "That he is. Always has been. And a gifted liar as well." He looks at Fury. "So now you understand why I had to come-"

"No, I don't." It's Tasha who speaks, snapping the words out. She's carefully avoiding looking at Clint and Clint can see the entire room tactfully trying not to notice. "Do you think Loki's coming back? To Earth?" she demands. "Is that why you've come here?"

Everyone can hear the question beneath her question though:  _Will the Avengers have to clean up Loki_ _'_ _s mess yet again?_

_Will_ _**she** _ _have to clean up Loki_ _'_ _s mess yet again?_

The image of Anna Bacik's tear-stained face pops into his head and despite himself Clint feels something that might have once been classed as his heart give a tight, painful twist in his chest.

Nobody notices though. "I am not entirely certain," Thor answers softly. "I know that is not as helpful an answer as you might wish, but it is the truth." He sighs. "If you would know my heart, I think Loki will not return here; I suspect he has lost his stomach for troubling Midgard. And he has no army this time, the Chitauri have put a price on his head. He knows coming back would be suicide. But there are-" He stops, shaking his head to himself and muttering something quick and singsong to his dark-haired companion. Sif places one hand on his shoulder, gives it a squeeze before he speaks again. "There is more to his being taken by the Norns than I have told you," he continues quietly. "More than anyone knows except my father and the Norns themselves."

Clint doesn't realise it for a moment but he instinctively feels his hands tighten around the sidearm holstered at his hip. But it's Tony, being Tony, who says what everyone else is thinking.

"I believe I speak for the room when I say No Shit," the billionaire drawls.

For a moment Thor looks confused by the slang but the meaning must translate because he inclines his head. "Then I have not shocked you; That is well." He finally folds himself tiredly into the chair at his back, for the first time looking more mortal than Thunder God. The transformation is unnerving, especially when he sighs again and drags a hand through his long, blond hair.  _He looks tired._ "What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room," he says eventually. "It cannot be passed to your governments, it cannot be passed on to any other branch of SHIELD. And if I find that you have repeated it I will see to it that there is- what is that phrase my Jane uses? Ah yes-  _Hell to pay._ " His blue eyes come to rest on Fury.

"Is that completely understood?"

The Avengers commander inclines his head slightly. "Crystal clear. Now what do you need to tell us?"

Clint can practically hear the cogs working inside Fury's head, promise not to share intel' be damned.

Maybe Thor can too because his expression is far from convinced. But nevertheless he inclines his own head to the spy and gestures to Lady Sif to sit. The room follows suit.

"As I have told you, Midgard-  _Earth_ \- is known to all in the Nine Realms," he says. "It is considered somewhat sacred territory, and for that reason it is specifically under the protection of Asgard and of the Norns." Raised eyebrows at that, though Clint can't say he's surprised; He'd figured there must have been  _someone_ protecting the Earth from the scum of the universe or the Palo Antigua incident would have happened long before now.

"As you may have guessed, that means that travel here is strictly policed," Thor continues. "No Bifrost or similar transportation device will connect to this realm, except for the one on Asgard and one other on Nornheim. We mean- we have always meant- to keep you safe. Which is why the Chitauri invasion was so… Worrying."

"How so?" Steve raises his eyebrows.

Again Thor glances at his female companion and again he sighs.  _Again Clint thinks that the guy looks tired._  "We believe the Chitauri wished to use Midgard as a beach-head," he says. "Of all the Nine Realms you are the most vulnerable: You have few practitioners of magic and your technology lags centuries behind ours." Tony pouts at this little piece of truth in advertising but wisely keeps his mouth shut.

The rest of the room looks vaguely relieved.

"But you're not telling us anything we don't know," Banner points out, his voice wary.

Thor inclines his head, allowing the truth of the man's remark. "Aye, I know I am not. But this you may not know." He lowers his voice. "There is conflict beyond your borders," he says softly. "Jotunheim is in the middle of a civil war, brought about by Loki's murder of Laufey; The main candidates for king are all united in their desire to escalate their armaments and enlarge their armies. Vanaheim has started building up their military resources, in case they are attacked next; Alfheim is doing the same but on an even greater scale. Nobody knows what Svartelfheim are planning, but the Dark Elves are unpredictable and should not be trifled with. The only people not attempting to increase their armies are the dwarves of Nidavellir, for they are too busy selling weapons to everyone else. And who knows what they may have kept back for themselves? Who knows what intelligence we have missed? Conflict is on its way, a war so massive it will eclipse all others." He frowns, looking at each Avenger in turn.

"And into this pit of trouble, I see Midgard thrown."

Steve's the soldier and Steve understands before anyone.  _It's_   _his face draining of colour that gives it away._  "You think one of them might invade us," he says. "As an pre-emptive strike. Get in here, make sure there's a strong force in place in case the Chitauri try again."

Thor nods. "Aye. And from here they might launch an attack on the other realms once the threat has passed, secure in the fact that their realm is now twice the size it once was. If that happens, the delicate balance of power which has kept the peace for centuries will crumble and fall. The death-toll would be catastrophic." He shakes his head. "As I have told you, in my youth I courted war. But I do not want this. My family does not want this. And you may rest assured the Norns do not wish it for Midgard either." He looks at his companions and again he sighs. "We had thought to stop this conflict before it begins using Loki," he mutters. "But if he has disappeared then it all might be for naught…"

"So he was bait." It's Natasha who speaks this time.  _Steve_   _might be a soldier but it takes a spy to understand this._ "You were going to lure the Chitauri using him," she says. "You were going to send him to Nornheim and hope the Chitauri turned up."

"Yes." Thor steeples his hands before his chest. He doesn't look proud of himself but Clint doubts he's lying. Again he thinks about how tired the supposed God looks. "That is precisely what we hoped," Thor is saying. "If the Chitauri were lured to Nornheim and attacked it, the other Realms would be treaty-bound to come to her aid.  _That is the nature of our fealty to the Norns._ And if all the Realms stand together and defeat an enemy the tension might be broken; At the very least they would have no excuse for invading Midgard, for the Chitauri would be routed." A humourless smile flashes across his face. "At least, that is what we were hoping. Given this turn of events, such hope may have been in vain"

Tasha cocks an eyebrow, looking like she's impressed despite her better judgement.  _And Tasha isn't easy to impress, deception-wise._ "So what do you need from us?" she says coolly.

Clint can see by the tension in her spine what it costs her to ask Thor that.

Apparently the Asgardian can too, because he stands. "I need some of you to come with me to Nornheim," he says. "The Norns themselves requested it, and I think it a wise idea."

"So this would be a diplomatic mission?" Steve asks.

Clint notices that everyone's trying pointedly not to look at Tony-  _Since diplomacy isn't exactly Iron Man's strength._

Thor appears to agree, though he's far to polite to say it out loud. Judging by his pout though, Tony knows what the group's thinking. "Aye, it would be partly about peace-making," Thor says. "But it would also be a chance to show the other realms Midgard's metal. Show them the manner of man-" He inclines his head politely to Natasha- "And woman this world breeds. If Loki is on the Norns' world then we must find him. If he is not, then we must ascertain whether he is dead or colluding with the enemy as he did before."

"And we have experience with this." Again it's Natasha who says it.

"You are the  _only_  people who have experience with this," Thor points out. "If we are to have a hope of stopping my brother then we will require your aid." Again he glances at Sif and then he says a word even Clint knows does not come easily to a King or a God.

"Please, my friends," he says softly. "Please, I need your help with this."

_A beat passes as the room digests the sight of a God saying please._

The moment passes though and the Avengers look at one another, a question in each of their expressions. They've each lost much because of Loki and they've each given up much to maintain their lives outside the Avenger Initiative. But it's Clint who gives Thor his answer, and the archer knows he speaks for everybody.

"Thor," he says, "I believe it would be our genuine pleasure to kick your baby brother's ass. Again. In space."

Tony snickers. "In the cause of universal peace, of course."

Thor smiles, and for a moment he looks almost... boyish. "You have my thanks, my friends," he says. "You have the Nine Realms' thanks."

And with that Earth's Mightiest Heroes rise and begin to make their preparations, the look of relief on Thor's face almost epic. That twist of pain echoing through Clint's chest as he imagines facing his nemesis again something he tells himself he can use if it comes to a fight. The superheroes file out, already talking about weaponry and divvying up their task-load, Clint and Natasha carefully avoiding meeting each others' gazes, everyone else carefully pretending not to notice-

Leaving Nick Fury to mull over what he's heard about the universe and begin planning his own counter-attack.


	10. Chapter Nine: Whispers

_Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine._

**CHAPTER NINE: WHISPERS**

_Meanwhile,_

_Back on Nornheim_ _…_

Sigyn leans down and reaches in to touch the communications device built into her gauntlet. Flicks it on and waits patiently to see if it will boost up. Hoping that it will tell her how many Valkyries there are in the area and how many of them have turned  _their_ com' devices on. Hoping that at least one hunting party will be able to come and relieve her of Chauri before the bitch finally loses her grip on life. Outside the storm still rages, moving with the same speed with which is came on. Clouds churning and twisting, lightning splitting the sky. Hiding all three of Nornheim's moons, making the temperature icy even as thunder rolls and booms-

_It's going to be a terrible night,_ she thinks.

As if to contradict her, by some miracle the device blinks on then and she quickly taps out a message in Disir, the language spoken by both Norns and their Valkyries. Throws a wary glance at her prisoners and then lowers the cloak of magic she has carefully spread over the cave in which they've sheltered in an effort to keep them hidden from the Chitauri.  _Though she supposes she can leave it down now; The storm has become bad enough to do its work for her._ As soon as the message is sent she raises the shield again and settled herself down on the ground, waiting for one of her sisters to answer it. Given the nature of the weather it may be a long shot but at given what has happened it's possible a scouting party has already been dispatched.

At her feet Chauri lolls, still half-way between life and death. Occasionally muttering curses. Her wounds bleeding out all over Nornheim's dusty, tan-yellow soil. She appears to be no nearer life than she when Loki stabbed her, and yet she clings to her mortality with surprising tenacity; The fact that she has finally succeeded in finding her favourite pet the probably reason for her death-strong grip. Sigyn knows that she should be worried about the Chitauri princess, should be trying to keep her alive, the better to gain knowledge of what her people have planned- But she cannot bring herself to do it.

_She cannot bring herself to truly care._

For in a make-shift billet to her right Loki lies, his face pallid as death, his breath coming shallowly. His skin raging with fever though it feels so cold to the touch. Blue to white it pales and flushes, a storm to match the one raging outside. The sickness so strong that it counteracts even Odin's ironclad glamour on his adoptive son's flesh. Every so often his eyes flitter open and it's anyone's guess whether they will gleam blue or red or some sick black colour Sigyn has never seen in them before-

_And that sight is enough to make Sigyn's heart stutter in her chest._

Not that she is willing to dwell on her reaction: She has wrapped him in her own cloak, one eye constantly on him, but that is no more than any Law Speaker like herself would do for their prisoner.  _At least, that is what she tells herself._ Every so often he calls out in his sleep, words and curses, occasionally sounds which from another she would think were sobs. Insults at Chauri mingling with those aimed at Thor, everything muddled together as he tosses and turns in his slumber. Sigyn watches, her worry mounting. Cursing both Chauri and her choices as Loki's guardian. For it is her fault he came to this: She disengaged his healing while he was in Asgard, the better to control him when he was her prisoner-

Now witness the result, she thinks bitterly. Witness what your interference has cost him.

_For had she not meddled with him as she has then he would not be so sick as he is now._

Her com' device chimes then, telling her that not only has she finally succeeded in contacting someone but they are near enough to provide an extraction team. She glances down to ascertain the identity of her saviour and winces at what she sees: The only available Valkyrie is Karnilla, a woman who is far from her first choice. The other woman was originally assigned to Loki and was not an advocate of his having a fair trial. One of the few Asgardians in the Norns' service, she carries a grudge against the younger Odinsson from what Sigyn can see, a grudge which appears to have nothing to do with the Siege of Midgard or Loki's actions therein. And given those facts Sigyn doubts Karnilla will applaud her plans to save her prisoner, anymore than she applauded the Norns' decision to give him a trial.  _Not that she is going to get any choice about that._ Sigyn sighs, picturing the argument ahead of her as she checks her gear, making sure to gather her belongings-

She hears footfalls then, the swish of a blade being pulled out.

She draws her own weapon and darts forward, ready for battle, only to nearly smack into a fellow Valkyrie.

"It is you," Karnilla says without preamble. The taller woman looks like she's vaguely disappointed. "I had assumed he'd gutted you and left you for dead."

"And just happened to know how to call you in the language of the Norns?" Sigyn scoffs. "Because he felt like giving his captors a sporting chance?"

Apparently the taller woman isn't impressed with her line of thought, because she doesn't answer her. But then Karnilla is not exactly known for her sparkling repartee. "Is that him?" she says instead, jerking her chin in Loki's general direction.

Sigyn feels a flash of… possessiveness go through her.  _Because that is_ _ **such**_ _a helpful reaction in the circumstances._ "Yes, that's him, but he's not why you're here."

And she gestures to Chauri with her boot, drawing her lips back in disgust as the alien princess mewls.

For the first time in their long acquaintance Karnilla almost looks impressed.

"You caught one," she says. She hunkers down beside the alien, not too near, and examines her green flesh and hair with interest, using the point of her blade to lift Chauri's armour and find the skin beneath. "And not just a drone member: This one isn't like the corpses they found on Midgard."

Sigyn nods. "Aye, she thinks for herself. Loki said she worked in the Chitauri court, for their emperor: He said that she is called Chauri." She frowns as Karnilla straightens up, shrugging at the other woman's raised eyebrows. "Whatever she is, she's higher up in their structure than any prisoner we have thus far found," she points out.

"Fascinating." Karnilla pulls out her mother-line, gestures to Sigyn's where it's bound around the Chitauri. "If you wouldn't mind?" she says.  _No Valkyrie can open the mother-line of another; even if it were possible it' simply not_ _ **done.**_ "Did you do this damage to her?" she asks as Sigyn unbinds the alien. "Did she talk after you fought?"

"No and no." For a moment she is hesitant to answer but then she realises that lying will probably work out worse. "Loki did this to her," she says softly. "He was trying to protect me."

Karnilla blinks, her disbelief obvious. "So he's been sweet as flower-petals since you picked him up, has he?" she drawls, binding Chauri tight with her own rope.

Apparently it's her turn to scoff.

Sigyn can't help her testiness in response. "No, he's tried to escape three times in the last two days. And he's nearly beaten the blazes out of me to do it." She sighs, shakes her head at the other woman's raised eyebrow. "And yet each time he has had a chance to leave me for dead he has helped me. He has stepped down. He stabbed that creature-" she gestures to Chauri- "To save me." She frowns, shakes her head.

"I assure you, it's most vexing."

Karnilla shrugs. "You know my opinion on him," she says, speaking over Sigyn before she has a chance to object. "I believe he's up to something; He's a trickster, it is simply what they  _do._ " And she stands, picking up her own com' device and tapping it. At the very edge of her vision Sigyn sees three more Valkyries, the remains of Karnilla's hunting party, ghost forwards but they are too far away for her to recognise them yet. The red mantles mean they're probably only younglings though, new recruits.

Karnilla sees her looking.

"I know, I pulled nurseling duty," she says. "They're all destined for the Shield Maidens, except the redhead." She nods to a very small, elfin looking woman on her left. "That one wants to try for the Peace Weavers, if you can believe it." Karnilla shakes her head. "As if those women wouldn't eat her alive."

Sigyn finds herself sincerely hoping that Chauri remains unconscious if three younglings and Karnilla are all that stand between the Chitauri and possible freedom. Even if one of those younglings is in the middle of training as a Peace Weaver. The elite of the Valkyries, Peace Weavers go into conflict situations like wars and uprisings. Use their training to persuade- sometimes force- the combatants to sit down and make peace. They are the most feared women in the Nine Realms, more feared even than the Shield Maidens who guard the Nornkeep or the Law Speakers like herself to hunt criminals.

_But something tells Sigyn that Chauri could give even them a run for their money._

_So it's probably just as well the woman is so near death._

As she thinks it Karnilla straightens up and gestures to one of her charges. The girl, tall and broad with strikingly pale skin, reaches down and lifts up the Chitauri's body with nary a wince. The other younglings have fashioned some sort of pallet which they've left at the mouth of the cave and now the pale girl drops Chauri unceremoniously on it before she and her sisters lift it and begin dragging it into the night. "Are you coming?" Karnilla asks as soon as the girls are out of earshot. "Or are you staying here to freeze to death with your childhood sweetheart?"

Sigyn glowers. "You know my orders from Lady Verthandi," she says stiffly. "Even if I were so inclined I cannot leave him."

Karnilla lowers her voice. "He's sick, Sigyn," she says quietly. "Nobody would blame you if he died en route to the Nornkeep-"

" _I_ would blame me," she returns, equally softly. Her tone brooks no disagreement. "Besides, if he dies the Norns' plans die with him," she points out. "Our easiest chance of peace goes with him to the grave."

Karnilla's look is cold. "Of course. Because that is your only care in all of this." She shakes her head again, reproving as a mother. "And what of you? Are you going to try and keep that ridiculous bargain with Verthandi?" she demands. "Are you still saying that you can save him? Because that, sister, is madness."

Just for a split second Sigyn is tempted to punch her fellow Valkyrie. It's a measure of how topsy-turvy Loki turns her feelings that she even contemplates it and she immediately tamps the urge down. "I never said I could save him," she hisses. "I said he had it in him to save himself."

Karnilla snorts. "Same difference-"

"Not even close." And Sigyn feels her hand tighten on her weapon, the urge to wipe that smug look off her sister Valkyrie's face getting stronger.

She forces herself to take a step back.

"If you're to have a hope of getting the Chitauri to the Nornkeep, you should go now,  _sister_ ," she says. "I doubt you have any time to waste on a night like this."

Karnilla narrows her eyes. "And what of you?"

She gestures to Loki. "I have my hands full with an ailing prisoner. I will make camp here tonight, and I will bring him in tomorrow." Again she shrugs. "You'll read it all in my report, I assure you. But for the moment-" She gestures to the mouth of the cave- "You really should go."

There's far more threat than invitation in her tone and she knows it. Just as she knows that Karnilla cannot force her to bring Loki in yet.

The other woman takes the hint though and steps back. Inclines her head politely to her fellow Valkyrie, though Sigyn would place coin she'd rather give her a sharp blow. "Good hunting, sister," she says instead though, tone meticulously polite.

_Doesn't do to show insubordination in the ranks with all those younglings watching,_ Sigyn muses.

"Good hunting to you too, sister," Sigyn returns. "Give my regards to our Ladies Three-" meaning the Norns- "And all in the Nornkeep. Good night."

And with that Karnilla sweeps out of the cave, her blue cloak flaring behind her. The sound of the storm increasing in the moments after she's gone. Sigyn settles herself down beside Loki and stares at her prisoner, watches his chest rise and fall with the labour of breathing-

And in that moment she makes, what even she has to admit, is probably the stupidest decision of her life.

For she promised Verthandi he had it in him to save himself, and tonight she will give him the chance to do just that.


	11. Chapter Ten: Secrets

_**Disclaimer** _ _: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine._

**CHAPTER TEN: SECRETS**

_Sigyn is crying._

_Loki can hear her though he wishes he could not._

_She is sobbing, her narrow, youthful shoulders shaking with the force of her distress. Feet tucked in beneath her, arms wrapped around them as if she can make her body into a fort. She has climbed beneath the largest dressing table in her chambers, her tiny, childlike frame huddled as far into the shadows as it can manage. Head ducked in beneath her arms as if to hide her crying though the loudness of her sobs makes that impossible. All around her destruction rages: Her chambers look like they have been attacked by a monster, a dragon just like the one which she so recently defeated. Chairs tossed aside, the bed_ _'_ _s covers torn and shredded. A mirror over her vanity cracked in two as if someone had taken a cudgel to its surface. Sooty finger marks tracing along the walls, as if someone_ _'_ _s grip had been pried from them and left to drag along the ground. In fact, if Loki didn_ _'_ _t know better he would have thought that the dragon had indeed followed them home and taken revenge on Sigyn for having bested it-_

_But no dragon is here: The guards would have noticed it._

_Loki hears Thor swear behind him, his oafish brother apparently at a loss at what to do with a crying girl-child and the younger Odinsson rolls his eyes._

_Not that Thor is alone in his unease: Fandral and Volgstagg shift listlessly from foot to foot behind him, their discomfort as obvious as their friend_ _'_ _s. But Loki is not discomfited. True, he is not overly easy with such displays of emotion: The price of being a son of Odin is rarely showing what one truly feels. And Sigyn is, well,_ _**Sigyn** _ _. Little sister tagalong on all his adventures, and his brother_ _'_ _s. Occasional annoyance and more usual comrade-in-arms for whom his mother has made him responsible and in whom he has found his first true friend. She is_ _…_ _safe. Knowable. She does not look at him as others do, seeing only all the ways in which he is not Thor. And_ _…_ _He_ _**knows** _ _Sigyn. Knows her as he knows few others. She is not some easily-upset little miss. She is not the sort to cry. So if she is weeping there is a reason, a very good reason-_

_And as soon as she stops sobbing long enough to speak he will duck under that dressing table and find out what it is._

_His chance comes a moment later, as she pauses to draw breath. With an alacrity which would impress his fighting instructors he dodges under the desk, taking the opportunity to speak to her before she begins to cry again. She starts when she sees him and he has to fight back a sharp twinge of hurt: Most people on Asgard wince when they see him._

_But Sigyn is not most people, and this is not about him anyway, so he ignores his pain and carries on with the task at hand._

" _Sweet,_ _"_ _he says softly then,_ _"_ _Sweet, why are you crying?_ _"_

_Blood-shot, teary amber eyes stare at him from over her knees._ _"_ _I am not crying,_ _"_ _she says stiffly. As if her merely stating it will make it true._

_He frowns, making as if to ponder her statement. He does not believe that straight contradiction will work in this instance: He has never seen it yield results with his mother or Sif._ _"_ _So is this some sort of Muspelheim tradition?_ _"_ _he asks instead._ _"_ _A dirge for the dead, perhaps? Some sort of mourning prayer?_ _"_

_Despite herself she giggles, the amber eyes softening. As often happens when Sigyn smiles at him, Loki feels himself smiling back without hesitation. The effect she has on him is_ _…_ _Unexpected. Soothing._ _"_ _You are being silly on purpose,_ _"_ _she says._

_He raises his eyebrows at her. The statement is implicit:_ _**You are being silly too if you say you are not weeping.** _ _Sigyn sighs, apparently reading his expression. For a moment she looks very young indeed._ _"_ _It_ _'_ _s a secret,_ _"_ _she says quietly._ _"_ _It_ _'_ _s not_ _…_ _It_ _'_ _s not something I_ _'_ _m supposed to talk about with other people._ _"_

_She says the last to her fingers, there where they lie knotted atop her knees._

_Loki isn_ _'_ _t entirely sure why, but the temperature of the room drops several degrees._ _"_ _So it_ _**is** _ _a Muspelheim tradition,_ _"_ _he says, not sure what else to do._

_She shakes her head._ _"_ _No_ _…_ _No it_ _'_ _s not. Father says it is, but it_ _'_ _s not. The servants told me. It_ _'_ _s_ _…"_ _Her voice trails off, falling into murmurs. Loki thinks he catches the words_ _"_ _my fault,_ _"_ _and_ _"_ _punishment,_ _"_ _and suddenly he realises what has happened. Feels a snarling scratch of anger, quite different from what he_ _'_ _s used to, hissing through his chest._

" _King Surter came to punish you for what happened on Nidavellir,_ _"_ _he says quietly._ _"_ _That is why you are crying, isn_ _'_ _t it, sweet?_ _"_ _She nods._ _"_ _But why didn_ _'_ _t you tell him that it wasn_ _'_ _t your fault?_ _"_ _For it wasn_ _'_ _t: it was Volkstagg who bet Thor that he could not steal the dragon. It was Thor who fell off and let the maddened beast loose, idiot that he was. Sigyn had merely been caught in the crossfire, a little girl very nearly eaten by an angry, hungry monster-_

_Loki frowns, pondering the foolishness of adults of one if one had tried to make Sigyn_ _'_ _s survival into a cause for guilt._

_But Sigyn doesn_ _'_ _t appear to hear him. She_ _'_ _s shaking her head earnestly, not listening to a word he says._ _"_ _Father was called here from important business,_ _"_ _she says._ _"_ _He shouldn_ _'_ _t- I oughtn_ _'_ _t have given him cause for worry or embarrassment._ _"_ _So, Loki muses, this was about Surter_ _'_ _s pride. Not all that surprising: The man made even Fandral look modest in comparison._ _"_ _He just_ _…_ _Father just wanted to remind me that I_ _'_ _m supposed to behave myself. That I cannot spend my days wool-gathering, imposing on my hosts_ _'_ _kindness._ _"_ _Loki opens his mouth to contradict her but she speaks over him before he can._ _"_ _They will fade, he barely even broke skin,_ _"_ _she continues._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _m crying more than I ought to, a princess of Muspelheim should be able to endure more-_ _"_

_Loki_ _'_ _s head snaps up at her words so fast he nearly hits his skull off the dressing table_ _'_ _s surface. He must not-_ _**cannot** _ _\- have heard that right._ _"_ _What do you mean he barely broke the skin?_ _"_ _he asks. Grabbing at Sigyn_ _'_ _s elbows despite himself, the beginnings of an anger he has never before experienced tightening his chest. She cannot- She cannot mean what she has just said._

_No father would punish his child thus; Certainly Odin would not._

_Sigyn winces where he has grabbed her and instantly he pulls his hands away as if scalded. She nods to him, understanding his contrition without his saying it. Another thing he likes about her, that she seems to comprehend him without his having to say the words. Their eyes meet, a grave frown marring her features. Amber into blue, a communication Loki is not sure he can endure, one he knows he has never been through before. And then slowly, as if drawing on some great well of bravery, Sigyn holds one skinny, coltish arm out to him. Her pale golden flesh glowing dimly in the poor light even now._

_Loki watches her carefully, seeking permission as he folds the long sleeve of her gown back and up her arm, making sure to keep vigilant for any hesitation. She shows none, worrying her lip slightly instead as the sleeve folds back from her elbow. And there Loki sees them: five misshapen, scalpel-sharp pieces of green stone embedded like needles into Sigyn_ _'_ _s arm-joints. They_ _'_ _re frost-stones, a jade-like substance which is toxic to fire-demons and their placement means that any movement of the arm would cause her a sharp, excruciating pain. For a moment Loki_ _'_ _s mind is blank, unable to process what these wounds must mean about the father of his best friend_ _…_ _And then suddenly, as if from far away his thoughts snap into focus and horror wells in his chest._

_**Surter did this,** _ _he thinks._ _**Her own father did this to her.** _

_**How could anyone bear to hurt so lovely a creature as she?** _

Loki wakes with a start.

Covered in sweat, every limb shaking in pain. Eyes unfocussed, bleary. His body shivering where he lies. He flashes back to what happened and realises Chauri's blood must have gotten into his body when she kissed him: This feels like the after-effects of every other time she's dosed him.  _Though at least he appears to have been given some sort of treatment for her poison this time._ For a moment he doesn't move, takes stock of his surroundings. Somewhere to his right he can hear someone, someone smaller and lighter than either he or Sigyn, moving about. It sounds like she-  _it is more likely a she-_ is walking on a wooden floor but he cannot be certain. Any more than he can be certain that they are indoors.  _But he_ _ **thinks**_ _they are_. He recognises the smells of cooking, the bitter-pungent aroma of some medicinal herb he can't remember the name for mixing with animal fat and some sort of spice mixture common on Muspelheim-

The memory of his nightmare comes back to him suddenly and he pushes the thought viciously away.

He hears a door open then, the footsteps getting closer. The person who isn't Sigyn bustles into his room, the scent of something mouth-wateringly delicious wafting in with her. A shaft of pale light appearing and disappearing with her coming, telling Loki that whatever else has happened it is no longer night. That the storm has passed and he has been moved to somewhere with medical supplies. The Asgardian tries to sit up despite the pain in his body but finds he can't; It seems he's been tied to the bed he's lying on-

_Still, if this little serving girl is in any way susceptible to charm he will soon fix that_ , he thinks.

And with that in mind he allows himself to give the most pitiful little moan.

"Maithersheen, tae'sha dhushaethe," he hears the girl say then, her accent lilting and peculiar. She's still but a silhouette, her back to him, and Loki can't make much of her out. It takes him a moment to realise that she's speaking the Kyant, the language of Muspelheim. Just as it takes him a moment to realise that she's just called whoever is outside-  _Sigyn?-_ mother in that same tongue.

The realisation sets something unpleasant burning in his belly.

"He speaks the Kyant, Eru," he hears Sigyn's voice chime from through the door then. "There's no use in trying to deceive him with it. If you don't want him understanding you then speak Disir, pet."

The girl grunts something which sounds distinctly like a swear-word. "How in blazes did he learn to speak the Kyant in anyways?" she demands, still pottering away in the shadows. Loki really wishes she'd bring the food over now; he's getting hungrier by the second. Though he's not sure he's ready to meet Sigyn's… daughter?

_Yet is has been centuries since they were together; Why should he have assumed that she would never move on and create the family they had both wanted for herself?_

For a split second the image of Sigyn's injured arms flicks through his mind and again he pushes the thought away.

The girl Eru snorts when her mother doesn't answer though. "Ah, maithersheen, could it be I've embarrassed you?" she laughs.

A sliver of light floods the room and Loki realises it comes from a door. Mainly because Sigyn has popped her head around it. The Valkyrie wags a finger in a thoroughly parental fashion at Eru and Loki's stomach clenches again. "When are you going to learn, child? I have no discernible sense of shame or embarrassment," she says. She winks at the girl. "Besides, he's awake and listening to you so I suggest you give my prisoner some of that broth." She nods to Loki. "Before he hurts himself trying to escape those bindings- Because escape them he won't."

And then she disappears out of the room again.

The girl Eru comes nearer his bed then, everything about her screaming her wariness. Once she gets near enough she lights a lamp on the table beside him and sets the food-tray on it, and for the first time Loki gets a decent look at Sigyn's… child. She stands far taller than her mother, though she has her fire-laced golden hair and amber eyes. These though seem as if they have red in them, their brightness unsettling in the girl's youthful face. But by far the most surprising thing about Eru is her skin colour: She's as blue as any Jotunn.

The answer comes to Loki as swiftly and as painfully as an arrow: That's because she  _is_ Jotunn. Or at least, her father was.

And something in his chest squeezes tight, knocking the breath out of him with far more force than any fever.

For if he and Sigyn had had a child, if he and Sigyn had managed to make it through their wedding ceremony and started that family she had wanted, their child would have looked, he imagined, very much like this. Their child would have been this unusual, this lovely. Would have offered this proof that fire and ice can live in one being and thrive.

"You look," Eru tells him, "Like you're going to retch."

He nods, breathless. "Bright girl. Observant. But it will pass."

Eru snorts again. "She said you'd be stubborn. I didn't believe her." She shakes her head. "More fool me." And then she picks up a spoon and dips it in the broth, taking her time bringing it to him. "Do you think you can keep this down?" she asks him, young eyes cynical.

He nods. The shock is fading and his hunger is returning. "Yes, I can keep it down, sweet."

Eru takes the spoon away and taps him once- hard- in his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Something else he suspects she learned from her mother. "She said you'd try sweet-talk too," the girl says. "Stop it. If you want to eat, you'll keep a respectful tongue in your head."

Despite himself Loki gives a tired laugh, surprised by how much like Sigyn she sounds. Her point made, Eru picks up her spoon and returns to feeding him soup. Taking her time over it, her ease telling him that she's done this before. Has she fed her father, Loki wonders, or some of her mother's prisoners? Is that why she's so adept at something so few girls her age would bother to do? He holds in his questions though, not wanting to frighten her and suspecting he would get nowhere with her anyway-

He's nearly through the soup down before Sigyn reappears, this time wearing a simple woollen gown rather than her Valkyrie armour.

She looks almost exactly like the last time he saw her, at their wedding, and he fears he may do something embarrassing like stare.

His reaction must be obvious though: Sigyn notes it. She comes over to the bed and nods at Eru, murmuring to her that she can do this, the girl should get to her chores. Eru hands her the spoon and gets up, sidling easily out of the room. She has the loping gait of one comfortable in their skin and Loki feels a flash of jealousy at it. It reminds him of Thor and his easy, happy walk. But when he looks back to Sigyn she's not watching her child, she's watching him. "You have questions," she says."Ask away."

Loki's tone is stiff. "It's really none of my business."

She laughs, the first time she's done so since she re-entered his life. The sound is as lovely as it ever was. "Aye, it's not your business," she says. "But that's never stopped you before." She feeds him a spoonful of soup. "So ask, dunachai."

"Where's her father?"

The question is out of his mouth before he can help it. But really, what else is he going to ask?

Sigyn shrugs. "Dead, I think. Not about, certainly."

Loki feels annoyance sharpen his voice, lending it a sarcastic twinge.  _Or maybe it_ _'_ _s more jealousy than annoyance._ "So he abandoned you both?" he drawls, trying to make his tone cutting. "Couldn't you keep him interested, pet?"

Her look is wryly amused. "He didn't abandon us," she retorts. "Only her. He was involved with the first uprising on Jotunheim, after you killed Laufey. That did not end well for him." Again Sigyn shrugs, speaking over him before he can ask. He doesn't want to think about what she's guessed regarding his reaction. "I found Eru hiding in one of the Peace Weaver's ships when the first fleet returned to us and I took her home with me," she explains, smiling at the memory. "She needed someone to love, and so did I."

"So she's not yours?"

_He_ _'_ _s not terribly sure why, but this feels vitally important._ _He just knows he doesn't want to talk about love._

Sigyn must guess though, for she looks at him shrewdly. "She's mine now. That's all that matters." An exhalation of breath. "No matter what some of my sisters might say."

_He guesses there's more to that statement but he doesn't push it._

"But she's not- She's not your flesh and blood?" he presses instead.

She narrows her eyes at him. "Flesh and blood can be traitorous, you know that," she says. "And both are overrated: You know that too." Sigyn cocks her head to the side, her look evaluating. For a moment Loki feels like a boy again.

"She is the closest I believe I will ever come to having a child and I love her," she says eventually. "Doesn't matter that a Valkyrie is not supposed to have any other love besides her calling. It wasn't in me to leave her when she first arrived. I don't have it in me to leave her now.  _I_  don't leave people behind, dunachai," she points out gently.

He feels the sting of her accusation to his core then.

Because Sigyn's not the one with a history of abandoning people.  _Sigyn was the one who always got left behind_. Loki pictures her that night he finally realised how Surter treated her- the night he first failed her- and pushes the memory violently away. He's had a morbid disgust of frost-stone ever since that night and he doubts it will ever leave him.

_But then on the list of things he's witnessed, he tells himself, that's hardly the worst._

"Well, she is rude, stubborn and prone to violence," he says dryly instead, trying to force the seriousness of the situation away. "She certainly seems to take after you."

Sigyn inclines her head. "She has a natural talent in that area; I haven't had to instruct her much." Again she laughs and this time, despite himself Loki smiles.  _It feels like an age since he_ _'_ _s genuinely smiled._  "She's a good girl, and she will make a fine Valkyrie," Sigyn is saying. "If I'd left her on Jotunheim they'd never have let her live: She's a half-breed. But here she will have a chance to flourish and thrive, no matter what her lineage. A mother can't ask for more than that." She looks at him. "And I  _am_ her mother, dunachai.

Don't ever forget it."

Loki barely hears himself say the words. "I promise you, I won't."

And with those words they both become silent. Pensive. Sigyn feeding him the last of his soup even as they listen to Eru potter about the rest of the house. Loki watches her, this girl he remembers who's now a woman. This woman he wishes were somehow still a girl. In the silence he finds himself wishing he hadn't brought up Eru's father. Wishing- not for the first time, he finally admits- that he'd never become the Butcher of Midgard, or done all the things that have brought him back into her life. But he did. And he can't help it.

_Just like he can_ _'_ _t help being angry that that girl in there- Eru- isn_ _'_ _t his._

But he won't say anything about it: Sigyn's not the only one who can keep a secret.


	12. Chapter Eleven: Family

_**Disclaimer** _ _: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine._

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: FAMILY**

Sigyn doesn't sleep that night.

She watches over Loki until tiredness claims him. The sleeping draught she placed in his broth sending him into slumber far quicker than he might otherwise have done. She wonders whether she should be worried that she's so comfortable drugging him but then she remembers that she has beaten him up, used him as a baton and agreed to dangle him in front of the Chitauri as bait-  _All for the greater good, of course._ After all that, she supposes it's a little late to be getting squeamish. And besides, at least if he's with her he's safe.  _At least if he's with her he has a chance._  So she slips into Eru's room, listening to daughter's breath as she slumbers, her chest rising and falling in its own waltzing rhythm-

And for a while it's enough, to know her child is sleeping.

But though she finally leaves, takes to her bed, sleep will not claim her. And much as she might like to pretend otherwise, she knows it is not worry about her prisoner escaping which is keeping her awake. For in bringing Loki here Sigyn knows she has taken a massive risk. Not only with her own and Eru's safety but with that of every Valkyrie on Nornheim. For despite the legends she and her sisters encourage about their calling, Valkyries are not sworn to celibacy. They are not immortal and they do not live alone, priestesses to the Norns' desires like novitiates of old. What they  _do_  have is training, advanced weaponry, skill in magic and an absolute sense of purpose-

And they also have husbands. Wives.

_Families._

It is Nornheim's greatest and most closely guarded secret and in bringing Loki to her home Sigyn knows she has risked far more than her sisters would understand- _Or allow_.

But she had to do it, she reasons. She could not leave him at Chauri's mercy. She could not simply abandon him, as he once abandoned her. Long before this, when the Norns were first asked to try him, she had known that she could not leave him to the easy, malicious assumptions of Karnilla and her ilk. She had to give him a chance to save himself, she had to believe he could change. She might have understood in painful detail what Loki did on Midgard, but she knows there is more to him than that-  _She must believe as much-_

And yet she's terrified as she lies there, staring at her ceiling.

Her hands shake, Valkyrie though she is, at the thought of what may happen next.

For she fears for Eru now Loki knows of her existence. She saw the way he looked at her when he first saw her blue skin, and she fears his own hatred for his origins may cloud his view of the girl. Sigyn knows it is likely that he is uncomfortable around Eru: In the months after he fell from the Bifrost Sif came to see her on Nornheim and explained what happened. Revealed Loki's parentage, and what his apparent disgust at it had driven him to do.  _There is no_ _ **less**_ _likely candidate to be calm around a half-Jotunn._ But still… The way he stared at the child when he saw her, almost as if he were… Almost as if he were seeing a ghost. Or a revelation. The mere memory of it sets worry thrilling along Sigyn's spine, a worry she cannot force away. For off all the creatures yet living, only for Eru would she consider killing Loki-

"You really should give the trickster the benefit of the doubt before you decide you'll kill him," a voice chimes beside her.

"Is seems only fair, merciful creature that you are."

Sigyn sits bolt upright, swearing as she does so, and belatedly realises the Lady Verthandi, Path-Weaver and Maker of Destinies, is in her bedroom. She glares at her erstwhile employer. "Don't you ever knock?" she growls.

Verthandi merely laughs though, the sound of it musical. She has decided to appear in her usual guise, that of a nine year old girl, her floor-length ebony hair pulled into two tight plaits, her grin gap-toothed. She wears a long gown of silver, the tiny, glowing blue stone of power which signifies her Nornhood pulsing at her throat.

As always when she visits her like this Sigyn feels a slight rush of annoyance at how effortlessly elegant the goddess manages to look.

"Godhood has its good points," the Norn says wryly, reading her mind again. She toys with the glowing blue stone at her throat. "Though I must admit," she says as if to herself, "it has its drawbacks too."

And at this Verthandi gestures with her hand, setting every light in Sigyn's room to burning. The sudden brightness is irritating and Sigyn is forced to squint as she sits up in bed. "To what do I owe the pleasure, mistress?" she says politely, trying to pretend the sudden illumination doesn't bother her. "I thought I had made myself clear to Karnilla: I do not need any help."

"Don't you?" Verthandi shoots Sigyn a deeply motherly look, the expression off-putting on her childlike face. Sigyn fights the urge to stick out her tongue. "Karnilla passed along your message," the Norn is saying. "Indeed, she passed along quite a bit more as well, mostly opinion and annoyance at the notion that you would not simply leave your prisoner to die in the storm outside."

Sigyn scowls. "She should know better than to suggest I abandon him," she mutters. "She took the same oath I did-"

"And you took the same oath as she," Verthandi speaks over her. "An oath which, if I recall correctly, requires you to keep the existence of the Homelands and your sisters' families secret." The Norn tilts her head back and peers at her Valkyrie, somehow managing to give the impression that she's looking down her nose at her charge instead of up at her. Annoyance and exasperation war in Sigyn's chest. "And yet there the Butcher of Midgard sleeps," she says, gesturing to the room in which Loki slumbers. "Barely even tied down, possibly planning his escape right now."

_That's a comment too far._ "He is  _not_ barely tied down," Sigyn snaps, pulling herself into standing. "He is tied as tightly as any prisoner can be by mother-line- And if he escapes that it won't be because of  _me_." This time it is her turn to peer down at her guest.  _Literally._ "Not that you would know anything about his getting out of the last one I tied him with, would you, mistress?" She can tell that she's hit a nerve by the way the Norn scowls. "For he must have slipped free when we first encountered the Chitauri entirely at his own behest-"

"If you have an accusation to make, child," the goddess says, "then make it."

Sigyn shrugs with studied nonchalance. "No accusation, merely observation. Isn't that the Law Speakers' creed?" And she gestures to the room next door in which Loki slumbers. Even from here she can hear his rapid, even breath. "I tied him with my mother-line before I entered the Chitauri craft which pursued us here," she says quietly. "He was bound as firmly as any prisoner I've ever taken and yet he somehow managed to slip his bonds." She folds her arms across her chest. "Any idea how that might have happened, mistress?"

Verthandi looks resolutely unrepentant and Sigyn knows her guess is correct.

"We had to see what he would do if we gave him a choice," the Norn states evenly. "That is the whole purpose of bringing him here in your company, is it not?" She staples her hands before her, picking her way through Sigyn's chamber.

Again her body language appears absolutely at odds with her child-like appearance.

"You said that you believed he had it in him to do some good, Sigyn," Verthandi says eventually. "You said you believed the boy he was lived yet, though he slumbered in a monster's chest." The goddess looks up. "So we gave him a chance to do something good… And he did it. Not entirely, and not without any selfishness, but he did it." She looks at Sigyn sharply. "That strengthens your case for him, you know it does-  _So kindly change your tone."_

Sigyn hears her mistress' annoyance but pays no heed to it. Relief and irritation are flooding through her.  _So she_ _ **was**_ _making progress with him, after all._ "You could have told me what you planned," she points out instead.

"Aye, we could have." Verthandi allows. "But I know a little something about predicting the future, child, and I assure you- You can never know what will effect an outcome. It is best to leave events to run their course."

"Well, events nearly ran their course right over me," she grouses.

Verthandi looks almost… amused. "And yet here you sit. The trickster still bound and made known to your daughter. A high-ranking Chitauri in our custody and being introduced to our Karnilla's tender, loving care. Events have not thus far been unkind, Sigyn Burn-Touch…" Her silver-blue eyes turn serious, gaze returning to her Valkyrie.

"Which, as you may have guessed, is why I am here."

Instantly the Valkyrie stiffens, not sure what she is about to be told. It is rare that the Norns visit their Valkyries' homes at night, and rarer still that they keep secrets from all else in their tribe.

_And yet, here Verthandi stands._

"Tell me, Mistress," she says instantly. "I am yours to command, you know that."

For a moment Verthandi looks exceptionally old and weary. "I wonder if that will always be the case," she murmurs. "Somehow, I think not." But then she seems to recollect herself, focussing back on Sigyn. The change is really quite extraordinary, those ancient staring out through such a young face. "Thor has returned to Asgard," Verthandi tells her evenly. "He has brought Midgard's defenders back with him- All of the so-called Avengers, and the archer your prisoner so shamefully wronged."

Sigyn winces. Of all the things she knows Loki has done, his dealings with the one called Hawkeye horrified her the most.  _The things his superiors suspected had been done to him…_ "Why do you tell me this, mistress?" she asks though, pushing thoughts of Loki and Barton away. It is difficult. "Do you fear they will try to take Loki back to face Midgard justice? For I doubt even Asgard could take him from me-"

Verthandi shakes her head. "Odin will not try," she says firmly. "Even if he felt the need to, he knows the stakes in this matter. The Chitauri must be lured to Nornheim, must be made to take a stand." She lowers her voice, nods to Sigyn. "You know well what manner of a king Odin is," the goddess says softly. "You know what he will sacrifice to protect his realm- And you know what it has cost him, what it has cost you."

Sigyn feels a tug of pain twist in her chest at her mistress's words. Her mind going back to that day long ago when Loki begged his father to save her and his father said no. It had been the right thing to do: Taking her from Surter would have started a war which would have killed millions. No matter how badly her father treated her Odin had not been willing to risk that. But still… If she lived forever she would never forget that day, the day she realised the terrible privilege of kingship.

_The day she realised not even her beautiful, brilliant boy could save her, that she would have to save herself._

"If you do not worry about Odin then why are you here?" she hears her voice saying. It is only when she does so that she realises she has squeezed her eyes shut, the better to block out the remembrance of pain. When she opens them Verthandi is peering at her with something that might almost be pity.

The Norn puts one small, comforting hand on her arm.

"I tell you this because Barton brings with him the potential for great harm- Or great healing," she tells her. "The trouble is, which is his more likely gift neither I nor my sisters can say."

Sigyn blinks. "But I thought you saw the future?"  _The Asgardians might play at being Gods for the humans but the Norns were actual deities- Everyone knew that._

Verthandi sighs. "I thought I saw the future too- But where Barton and Loki are concerned, I can be sure of nothing. Everything is in flux, uncertain. Nothing is as it seems. I have asked my sisters but neither Skuld not Uror can make sense of it..." Again she shrugs, seeming to recollect herself.

"I just thought I ought to warn you of it in advance," she finishes stiffly.

Sigyn nods.  _Though what she has heard is far from reassuring._ "Then I will simply have to trust in my instincts as I always have done," she says stoutly. "I am sure I will be fine."

The Norn nods in return. "You are my best," Verthandi is saying. "Hold fast to that. If something is coming, I could ask for no better champion than you. But keep a good eye on your prisoner and watch your back, Sigyn Burn-Touch-"

And then there is a flicker of lights, the room plunging into darkness. It takes barely a moment to realise that the Norn has disappeared as quickly as she arrived. Sigyn sits in the dark, hoping Verthandi woke neither her prisoner nor her daughter-

"Are all goddesses as prone to drama as that?" she wonders aloud.

* * *

_Meanwhile,_

_Somewhere beyond time and space as we know it_

The alien emperor glares down at Verthandi.

"Hello, sister," he says quietly. "I thought it time we had a chat."


	13. Chapter Twelve: Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually a re-post because I deleted a chapter. I believe the phrase I'm looking for is "oops."

_**Disclaimer** _ _: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine._

**CHAPTER TWELVE: HEART**

_Somewhere,_

_Beyond time and space_

"This isn't real," Verthandi says bluntly.

She's staring at her brother, her eyes narrowed in anger. Hands clenched into fists, drawing on that well of power she keeps deep within her, her expression daring the creature before her to  _attempt_ an attack. But she knows he won't: She can see the way his gaze goes greedily to the blue, glowing jewel at her throat. It's a symbol of who she is, of who she and her sisters have made themselves into-  _A tiny part of the object which tore their family apart_. And she knows that while she wears it her brother will not touch her. He cannot predict what tricks she has taught that small stone, cannot know what revenge it will take for an attempt on its keeper's life.  _So Thanos can glower and snarl and grunt all he wants_ , she thinks,  _but he will_ _ **not**_ _harm me._

_After all, if he could simply tear that jewel at my throat from me, his army would never have seen Midgard soil at all._

The Emperor must guess where her thoughts have taken her but because he inclines his head lightly, a small smile playing about his lips. He's trying to remind her of their childhood, Verthandi thinks, trying to conjure the memory of the boy she was so afraid of. But she is no longer a child, and she is no longer helpless. Even without the jewel at her throat she's more than a match for him. And to prove it she gestures to the glittering star-field around her, pulling some of the nothingness of space into her control and conjuring herself a chair. It's an impressive piece of magic in a realm which is no longer her own and by the looks of it Thanos knows it. "You've grown up, sister," he says dryly.

Now it's Verthandi's turn to incline her head.

"You, on the other hand, have not."

Thanos laughs, circling the chair, trying to use his height to intimidate her. "Still blunt as ever," he says.

"Bluntness and honesty are not one and the same." She shrugs her child-like shoulders. "But then, such basic distinctions were always beyond you." She gestures to the beautiful nothingness around her, wrinkling her nose. The wrongness… no,  _deadness_ … of her home realm scratches at her skin like thorns, even in this illusion. "These bullying tactics will not work, brother," she continues, waving the sensation away. "I know that nothing I see here is real. I know that I am actually lying in my bed on Nornheim. And if the Heart would allow you bring it back to your side of the rift you would have done so; The trickster, the Chitauri, none of them would have been necessary if you were able to reach into Nornheim and simply take it…" He snarls and realisation comes.

Verthandi's smile widens.

"Which is why I'm here," she says softly. "You've seen what's coming. You know what the Heart will do when it encounters the trickster again. The pieces are in place, dice are falling exactly as we Norns have planned it…" Her smile turns sharp, feral.

"And you're terrified, because you know that if the Heart chooses Loki as its new keeper, he will come for you through the veil."

"You know nothing, sister," the Chitauri Emperor snarls. "I will not, nor ever have, feared Loki Odinsson. And I will have the Heart, if I have to rip it from your cold, dead hands- If I have to rip your precious Nine Realms apart to have it-"

And with that he lashes out at Verthandi. Smashing the chair she has fashioned to smithereens and knocking her to the floor. Thanos has never been a patient creature and his reaction is not patient now: He snarls and reaches for his sister, his hands going to Verthandi's throat, his hands clamping like a vice around her flesh. But just as his rage is terrifying to behold, so it weakens his focus. And since she has long since ceased being frightened of him, the Norn doesn't find him intimidating in the least. As soon as he touches her she reaches out to him, her magic seeking his magic. The shape of this dreamscape he has created flowing against her mind. She runs her perception along its edges, finds the crack- Thanos realises too late what she is doing, tries to draw her back to him- "You don't know what you're doing," he hisses, "You don't know what it will cost-"

And suddenly she is in her body in Nornheim again.

_Well, the body she uses most of the time anyway._

She looks up to see her sisters staring down at her, Skuld holding a poultice, Uror with the Heart in her hands. It's ethereal blue glow hangs over the room like a pall. Odin is standing behind them, there no doubt to keep an eye on the former jewel of his treasure room, as well as to help his son. All three looking worried-  _And that is one way nobody wants two goddesses and the All-Father to look._  But then, they know the stakes in all this, and they know that they are running out of time with them.

"Sisters," Verthandi says. "He's taken the bait."

* * *

_Meanwhile,_

_On Asgard_

" _You have heart._ _"_

Clint shakes his head, trying to drive Loki's voice away. Pacing through the corridors of Thor's crib, unable to sleep for the second time in as many days. All around him he can hear the sounds of water and birdsong, the Asgardian Palace more beautiful and peaceful than any other place he's ever been-

But it's lost on him.

 _In fact, he_ _'_ _s not sure he_ _'_ _ll ever be able to feel peaceful ever again_.

Because every step he takes, every breath he brings into his chest while he paces, every object he touches, reminds him of the man who took his mind and made him a monster. The man who's currently out doing God knows what to God knows whom, and doubtless planning to hurt more people in the process. Clint can feel his pulse accelerate, feel the anger beginning to bubble with every moment he spends here. Can feel his heartbeat double, something which might almost be panic clawing at his gut. No matter how serene the palace is, nor how welcome Thor and Frigga try to make him, Clint feels revulsion shiver through him every minute he's within this palace's walls.  _And how can he not?_  This is the home of the man who made him hurt Anna Bacik, the man who made him promise to hurt Tasha-

And while he knows it's not exactly good guest behaviour, that simple fact makes him wanna go Goddamn medieval on this fucking palace and everything else Loki has ever touched.  _Everything._

He shivers as he realises that he counts himself in that group, the memory of his wounds from the Battle of Manhattan making him clench his fists at his sides.

He turns a corner then, trying to force the pain away. Leans back against the cool stone of the wall, forcing himself to take deep soothing breaths.  _One. Two. Three_.  _ **One- Two- Three**_.  _You're not there anymore. Loki can't hurt Tasha- Or you_. But it doesn't work. Nothing ever seems to work. Nothing ever seems to make this go away. He doesn't want to remember but he can't seem to stop himself: It's been this way for weeks now, his time as Loki's flying monkey set on permanent re-run behind his eyelids- The feel of broken bones under his hands, the sound of screams as he inflicts hurt. Clint shakes his head to himself and as he does he hears a rustle of fabric, the unmistakeable sound of a woman-  _make that two women_ \- moving-

And when he opens his eyes he's staring at his partner and the Queen of Asgard. Their backs are turned to him, heads dipped together as if they're deep in conversation, staring out the bay window to his right.

Clint turns on his heel then, unwilling to speak to them but even as he does he hears the low murmur of their voices break off. Feels rather than sees Tasha look straight at him, the weight of her dark green stare a palpable pressure on his back.  _Shit._ Feeling almost like a kid caught misbehaving Clint forces himself to turn around, trying to hide the effects of his memories. Willing himself to be the man Tasha's expecting. He normally doesn't let her see him like this, would rather die than let her know what's going through his head. But though she must be shocked at how he looks- he refuses to think about how shallowly he's breathing- she merely inclines her head once, the expression curt yet somehow comforting, in that Yes-I'm-A-Soviet-Killing-Machine-But-I- _Like-_ You-So-You're-Not-In-Danger way she does so well.

Instantly Anna Bacik's face flashes through Clint's head and he pushes the thought away.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Agent Barton," Queen Frigga says then, her voice low and comforting. She shoots Tasha a pointed look. "But you must forgive me: your lady and I were just discussing you. Terrible form, I'm sure." And she smiles, warm and motherly, at Tasha. In that moment Clint can see where Thor got his good nature. "But now I fear I must find my bed," the Queen continues. "With my husband away on Nornheim I must act in his stead, and a tired monarch will do nobody any good. So I bid you goodnight." And she lifts her skirts, about to sweep away. But before she does so her eyes come to rest on Tasha, her voice sotto voce as she leans in. "Do not forget what I have told you, Natalya," she murmurs, pointedly trying not to look at Barton. Clint obliges her by making as if he can't hear. "You have the freedom of the palace, I believe you should use it."

Tasha inclines her head politely. "I will try to, All-Mother."

"See that you do." Frigga smiles at her, the expression suddenly turning mischievous. Clint can see that she must have been a stunningly beautiful woman when she was a girl. "After all," she's saying, "so handsome a man as your archer cannot be left alone for long. There's no telling what mischief he'll get into."

And she winks, Thor's mom actually  _winks_  at him.

Despite all her problems, Tasha winks back.

With that the All-Mother sweeps away, looking every ounce the other-worldly regent. Her long skirts whispering on the floor behind her even as she rounds the corridor's corner and disappears out of sight. For a long moment Clint and Tasha just stare at one another, not certain what to say now that they're finally alone together-  _Jesus, has it actually been the Siege of Manhattan since they've had to look at one another?-_ Clint remembers his nightmares of what Loki wanted him to do to Natasha and he finds himself grateful to realise that yes, it is.

A beat.

"So," Tasha says then.

_Because that's apparently what you say when you're feeling uncomfortable._

"So," Clint retorts, since he can't think of anything else. "I should get to bed too," he announces abruptly.  _He can't do this_. "Stop walking the halls like a weirdo- Thor's scheduled an early meeting with the reps from the other Nine Realms, I should rest up before I face 'em-"

And without waiting to hear the Widow's response he turns on his heel to walk away. His skin itching with the desire to get away from Natasha  _now._ He manages to get two full steps before Tasha's hand on his arm stops him, her touch conciliatory. He flinches at it but though she notices she doesn't pull away. "Clint," she says softly, "we can't keep doing this…"

Clint can't help himself: He shakes her hand off. "I can't- I won't-"  _Go for something direct, Barton._ "Yes, I can," he says finally. " _I_  can keep doing this."

And he starts walking again. Picking up his pace.

Tasha starts swearing under her breath in Russian. "Fine," she says, jogging to keep up with him. "Then how about  _I_  admit that  _I_  don't wantto keep doing this." And with those words she manages to get ahead of him, barring his way: He sees her cross her arms from the corner of his eye and winces, forcing himself to look her in the eye, trying to persuade her to move out of the way. But even as he makes eye contact he wishes he hadn't, the sight of her pity, her worry nearly flooring him…

 _She shouldn't be feeling that way about him_ , he thinks to himself.  _Not after everything he's done. Not after everything he helped Loki do._

Again, the silence stretches out.

But the killer thing about having a partner is that there's someone who knows you better than you know yourself. Someone who's been through everything with you and come out the other side. Tasha is that person to Clint, and he knows it. Just as he knows he's that person for her. So when Natasha reaches out and takes his hand this time, they both know he's not gonna pull away from her. Issues of personal safety notwithstanding, Tasha knows when he's had enough, knows when to fall back and when to lead.

_And tonight, it seems she's set on leading him somewhere._

So Clint lets her hand travel down his arm to grip his fingers, lets her elegant, thin digits wrap around his own. The warmth is more than he's let himself have for months and he knows he wants it. Just as, guessing by the way Tasha's looking at him, she wants it to. He looks down at her hand, not able to meet her gaze and turns his palm up to face hers. She twines her own fingers through his and tugs him gently towards her. For a moment he considers not going-  _What right has he to touch her after all he's done?-_ but the temptation's too strong. For both of them. And once he's within breathing distance of her Tasha pulls him to her, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight, sharp embrace.

"I need you back," she whispers softly, "I need you to come back to me." She lets out a quick whoosh of breath. "I've already lost Coulson, I can't lose you as well-"

Clint knows what she's doing, knows she's playing on his protective instincts. She's probably even trying to push his buttons, trying to get him to talk.  _But he's not biting._ "I'm no replacement for Phil," he says tersely. "Nobody is."

Tasha pulls back and looks at him; He can see from her expression that she knows he's guessed her tactic. "Well, nobody's a replacement for  _you_ ," she says softly, "and it's you I feel like I'm losing."

He hears his voice saying it before his brain gives clearance. "Maybe it's better that way."

Tasha looks at him coolly for a moment and then she does what he knows she's going to do: She reaches up and gives him a quick, sharp cuff to the back of the head before smacking him hard in the solar plexus. The pain knocks the wind out of him.

"You are an idiot if you think that," she mutters. "And you are an idiot if you think what Loki did to you was your fault-"

Clint can feel his anger rising. "What do you know about what I've done?" he asks her. "What do you think you understand about what I did for that lying trickster bastard?"

"I think I was there and saw what he did. I think I watched my partner get mind-fried and then go out to save the world." Her eyes narrow. "And I think I'm pretty damn tired of that partner wandering around like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders and not telling me what's wrong when he knows there's nothing he could say that would change how I feel about him-"

Clint sees red. Literally. Because for Tasha to say that shows how little she really understands of what he did.

"Fine," he snaps. "Do you want to know what I did for Loki? Do you want to know what he made me do?" She nods. "He made me go out and find him a girl, made me tie her to a chair and beat her. Made me call her by your name and pretend you were her, made me tell him how it felt to beat up the woman I love. And do you know why?" Tasha shakes her head, her gaze riveted on him. But somehow, she doesn't look as horrified as he assumed she would. Her stare is pitiless and it makes all this easier to say: He's not sure he'd get it out otherwise.

_Certainly not the being in love part anyway._

But he presses on. "He told me that he was doing this because of all his followers I had heart," he says softly. ""You have such heart, Barton," he'd say to me- "Such heart and I'm going to burn it right out of you-"" And he glares at Tasha, daring her to pity him. But the same implacable face he's seen in countless interrogations looks back. "And you know what? He was right," he says roughly, "he was right about me. Cuz he burned the heart right outta me and there ain't nothing' left-"

"That's not true." And this time it's Tasha who glares at him, Tasha who makes him look at her. Tasha who's staring at him with more emotion than he's ever seen in her, rage and hope and frustration warring in her gaze's green depths.

"It's not true that there's nothing left of you," she says softly. "It's not true that you can't get over what he made you do." He goes to interrupt but she speaks over him. "And as for making you think about hurting me, that's his sick shit, not yours, Barton." She clips him hard on the back of the head again. "You hear me soldier?"

"Yes ma'ame," he snaps sarcastically.

She hits him again, harder, and he winces. "You hear me, soldier?" she all but yells.

"Yes ma'ame," he yells back.

"Then you're gonna come to my room and drink some Godawful vodka and you're going to tell me what else he did to you, aren't you soldier?"

They're practically nose to nose now.

"Yes, ma'ame." He snarls it. "If that's what you want then that's what I'll do."

Tasha takes his hand and pulls him towards her. "That's what I wanted to hear soldier. Now shut your mouth and try to keep up."

And with that the two march their way through the Asgardian Palace, leaving behind their own troubles for the night. And it's because they're so distracted by each other that they don't notice the Asgardian guard who's been watching them- Just as they don't notice that guard signal to their waiting Chitauri ship.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Kiss

_Disclaimer_ _: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is _intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine.__

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: KISS**

_Somewhere Beyond Time and Space,_

"The signal has been received, my Lord," the courier says. "Asgard is vulnerable.

We know Nornheim cannot be far behind."

Thanos looks up to see his favourite courtier bowed before him, the only communications device which can work across the veil held aloft in the man's hands. The object glowing with the same eerie blue light all his other devices do, the colour a telltale sign of its origins. For the device, like everything else in his realm, was created by the Heart, and without it the technology is a mere ghost of its former self. It could be kept in action, true, but not indefinitely, and though he does not want to admit it Thanos knows that his grip on power will soon diminish of he does not act swiftly to replenish his technology once again-

And so really, this news could not come at a more inauspicious moment: His youngest sister's taunting has left him uneasy and he wants to move the plan forward with all due speed.  _Knows he must do so, for the danger of being the greatest monster in any universe is that the other monsters seldom stay wary of you for long_. With a single nod he takes the communications device from his courtier. Switches it on, looks over the message which has been sent. The knowledge that his shape-shifters, his  _skrull,_  have fooled even the great All-Father making his heart light. For there will be no stopping him this time, he thinks.  _Soon the Heart will be his once more_ -

And with the Heart will come the universe, he knows this.

_That is even more reason for satisfaction than the thought of beating Verthandi and her brats._

"Get in touch with our source on Nornheim," he says then, his smile growing ever wider. "Tell her to stop playing with those little Valkyries and move on the Trickster anew."

The courtier blinks. "But our intelligence indicates- Do you believe she is still in the game master, Master?-"

Thanos looks in pleasure at the communications before him.

"Why ever would you think she left it, little man?"

And with that he sweeps out.

_Meanwhile,_

_At Sigyn_ _'_ _s Manor in The Homelands,_

_Sigyn is hiding._

_Loki knows this; He has seen the way she darted from their school-room this morning. Knows that if she weren_ _'_ _t upset he would have found her by now, for while she might elude Thor and Sif and the others she would never outrun him. He supposes he should not be surprised by it; He had thought to take her aside and tell her of his plans_ _**before** _ _his father found her. Had wanted to sound out her feelings regarding the betrothal before the news broke. But though he had opened his mouth to tell her several times last night, each time his supposedly silver tongue had failed him. The words died in his mouth, the news would not come. For one look at her trusting, smiling face had been enough to make him doubt himself, enough to make him wonder how she would ever agree to his idea-_

 _And that_ _'_ _s what it is, he tells himself now as he strides from likely hiding place to likely hiding place. A plan. A stratagem. It is but a scheme to ensure her safety, a way to keep her on Asgard for longer and see to it that, should Surter harm her in the future, then Loki would be able to protect her with a family member_ _'_ _s rights. It has nothing to do with his feelings for the girl, idiotic as those are. It has nothing to do with the chaos she wreaks with him, innocent as she is. For he knows she sees him as but a childhood companion and he supposes he cannot blame her for that-_

 _**After all, not everyone is Thor,** _ _he thinks somewhat bitterly._

_**There are times he would give all the pieces of his heart to be loved as his brother is.** _

_But be that as it may, he will do what he can to protect her; The plan is simple enough and he is relatively certain it will work. His father, at his behest, will propose a marriage betrothal to Surter. His younger son to wed Muspelheim_ _'_ _s only princess, their two realms united in marriage and joined in joy. The Fire King will not be able to refuse said marriage: To do so, Loki knows, would be taken as a grave insult to Asgard and could result in war. The same war that Odin insisted on preventing by sending Sigyn back to her monstrous father two long summers ago. Loki smiles, thinking on the perfection of his plan: Once Surter gives his consent Sigyn will practically be a member of the Asgardian royal family. If the mysterious injuries which have plagued her continue then Loki will have the right to investigate, if she wishes to summer with her Soon-Family in Asgard there will be naught her father can do._

_She will finally be safe, and he will no longer have failed her._

_**And if he lives long enough to do her such a service he will consider himself lucky indeed.** _

_So he hurries towards the library now, the last place he can think she might be hiding. There is a secret reading room hidden within it, the place where Frigga keeps the most powerful of her magic books, the place where he and Sigyn spend so many hours studying their arts. Picking up his pace he steals silently into the room, seeing only a lone old man in a corner. He slips easily by him, heading to the back of the room, murmuring the incantation which will open the secret room_ _'_ _s door. He sees it flicker into visibility like the flame of a candle, sees Sigyn sitting at its edge, her long green dress stretched out across her legs. It shows how upset she is that she hasn_ _'_ _t sat clear of the door: It_ _'_ _s not wise to be in close contact with such magics, for she might be sucked into the enchantment and caught. Bearing that in mind Loki steals forward, pushing the door further open-_

_Sigyn jumps and shrinks back, as she is apt to do when startled, another effect of growing up with so vicious and violent a father._

_She looks up at Loki and for a moment neither says anything. There_ _'_ _s something peculiar happens when she looks at him like this, Loki knows it, and as if reading his thoughts they both of them look away at the same time._

 _For a moment the silence is total, and smothering. Quietitude does not normally bother him, but this seems awkward. Wrong. Not knowing what else to do Loki sits gingerly down, making sure to leave enough room between them- Another effect of growing up around Surter, that she fears being touched by anyone. He_ _'_ _s the only person she allows close regularly, and even that liberty took months to earn. He looks at the book in her lap, about to say something. She silences him with a look and he shuts his mouth, not sure what else to do. And then-_

" _You should have asked me first, dunachai,_ _"_ _she says softly._

 _She_ _'_ _s staring at the book as she says it, a frown marring her brows._

 _Loki_ _'_ _s voice sounds rusty to his own ears._ _"_ _I meant to, sweet,_ _"_ _he says softly._ _"_ _I-I swear to you, last night I opened my mouth many times to explain it, but no words would come out._ _"_

 _She throws him a look of disbelief._ _"_ _**You** _ _could not speak?_ _"_

 _Now it_ _'_ _s his turn to look away._ _"_ _Even my silver tongue sometimes fails, you know._ _"_

" _And why would it fail you?_ _"_ _she asks._ _"_ _Is it because you know this betrothal will not be believed?_ _"_

 _That surprises him._ _"_ _Why do you say that?_ _"_ _he asks._ _"_ _I know I_ _'_ _m not Thor, but surely some would believe that you would have me-_ _"_

" _ **Me**_ _have_ _ **you**_ _?_ _"_ _She speaks over him. She_ _'_ _s staring at him as if he_ _'_ _s mad._ _"_ _Who would believe that_ _ **you**_ _would have_ _ **me**_ _?_ _"_

 _His frown matches hers. It suddenly occurs to Loki that they may be having two very separate conversations._ _"_ _Why would anyone say that?_ _"_ _he asks her._ _"_ _You are crown princess of Muspelheim, your father_ _'_ _s only heir. You are clever and gifted and brave and lovely: Why would anybody believe I wouldn_ _'_ _t want you?_ _"_

 _She looks down at the book in her lap, her voice barely above a whisper. He cannot entirely make it out for she has lapsed back into her own language, the Kyant, but he thinks he makes out the words,_ _"_ _handsome,_ _"_ _and_ _"_ _foreigner,_ _"_ _and, bewilderingly,_ _"_ _Sif._ _"_

" _What was that?_ _"_ _he asks, for he cannot fathom what she is thinking._

 _She grits her teeth and does not look at him, but he hears her murmur softly,_ _"_ _I know you are in love with Lady Sif, dunachai._ _"_ _She glowers at the book in her lap._ _"_ _Nobody will believe that you wish to wed me, even to keep me safe from my father. And I will not be responsible for keeping you from someone you love._ _"_

 _Now it_ _'_ _s Loki_ _'_ _s turn to stare at her like she_ _'_ _s mad._ _"_ _What in the Norns_ _'_ _names gave you the idea that I_ _'_ _d want to marry Sif?_ _"_

_Good grief, were they but wed a week one of them would have murdered the other in their sleep. And the dead one would have known their murderer justified._

_Sigyn stares at him wide-eyed._ _"_ _She is beautiful, as an Asgardian maiden is. She is witty and wise and brave, as an Asgardian maiden is. You have known one another since you were in your cradles and all you do is bicker: On Muspelheim you would probably already be wed now, had she been honourable and made her intentions known to your family-_ _"_

 _Loki shakes his head._ _"First of all, Sif and I. Will. Never_ _**. Ever.** _ _Wed. Please accept that and don't mention it again, because the notion that you think we will is, quite frankly, disturbing." Sigyn opens her mouth to correct him but he knows he must rush on. Somehow he has to set her straight. "_ _**You** _ _are my best friend, sweet,_ _"_ _he tells her._ _"_ _My only friend. The only one I_ _'_ _ve ever really wanted. You understand magic, you understand this court. You_ _…"_ _He doesn_ _'_ _t know how to say it elegantly so he supposes saying it bluntly will have to do._ _"_ _You are the best person I know, and my favourite. I know you do not care about me as I do about you, but do not believe there is anyone I would rather be betrothed to._ _"_ _He tries to make her smile, to raise her spirits._

" _After all, Sif has never defeated a dragon._ _"_

_She smiles, remembering that childhood adventure._

_Thor and Fandral and their games had much to answer for._

" _Sif was never foolish enough to get trapped and nearly eaten by one either,_ _"_ _she points out._

 _But she_ _'_ _s still staring at him with wide amber eyes._

 _Loki chucks her nose and she smiles then, laughs. Her moods can be quicksilver, he has always loved that about her. And he can always make her laugh, he loves that about her too._ _"_ _I would take my dragon-slayer, my Sigyn, over Lady Sif in any battle,_ _"_ _he tells her._ _"_ _There is no-one else I would rather have at my side than you. And everyone will see that when we announce this betrothal._ _"_

 _As he says it, he can_ _'_ _t escape the feeling that he_ _'_ _s saying something more than the words he_ _'_ _s using. He can_ _'_ _t help but feel that he_ _'_ _s making a promise though he doesn_ _'_ _t know how. Sigyn looks up at him, her eyes wide, blinking, and just for a moment_ _…_ _something moves between them. Something Loki, the great word-smith, does not have a name for. Something that makes his heart hammer and his mouth dry, that makes him feel like his skin_ _'_ _s too tight and his limbs are not being put to their proper use. For some reason he cannot fathom Sigyn is leaning slightly towards him, her lashes fluttering lightly as he gets closer. Her lips are barely an inch from his and her gaze is wide and grave. Closer she gets to him, closer and then closer again, her lashes still fluttering-_

_Her lips meet his and there's nobody else, nothing in the Nine Realms more important than this-_

"Wake up, Loki."

Someone is shaking him but Loki does not wish to wake.

 _He wishes to stay with Sigyn, in that evening so long ago_.

"I swear, dunachai," the annoying voice says, "If you do not open your eyes I will take a weapon to you. I am a Valkyrie, I have many to choose from." A particularly vigorous shake nearly knocks him off the bed. "Now open your eyes, before I bring out my fire-whip. You remember my fire-whip don't you?

My father took it to you once before-"

And as it turns out that Loki  _does_  indeed remember the fire-whip so he opens his eyes. The room swims for a moment and he feels nauseous; It occurs to him that she must have drugged him again to force him to sleep and he finds he hasn't it in himself to hold the action against her.  _In fact, some tiny, irritated part of him is a little bit impressed._ Sigyn's face-  _adult now, and angry_ \- hovers just an inch from his when his eyes finally focus. For a moment the memory of that night in his mother's library reaches out to engulf him, the sweetness of a first kiss he'd never expected so tempting now that the one he kissed is here again. And so, before he can really process what he's doing he reaches up, pulling against the constraints of the mother-chord tying him down and kisses her. It's swift as a shaft of sunlight, sweet as a drop of saltwater. The kiss of a boy, perhaps, and not a man but it's the best that he can do. He only barely registers that she tastes slightly different now-  _still sweet but darker,_ he thinks,  _more tart, more bitter-_ and then she pulls away from him. Fingers going to her lips, amber eyes wide. For a moment there's no consequences to the action, she just gapes at him silently-

And then pain snarls at the side of his face, fireworks of sensation exploding behind his eyeballs.

She could have slapped him harder, he knows this, but it still hurts like wildfire and there's nothing he can do.

"You will not do that again." She spits the words, the fingers of the hand she didn't slap him with still pressed against her lips. Her skin is literally aflame, a sure sign of her anger, and for a moment all Loki can think is how lovely she looks like this.

"Turn around is fair play, sweet," he tells her. This is the most discontented he's seen her since they met again, he should have thought to do as much before. "You drug me and I take a sweet revenge, where's the harm in that?" He forces his expression into s vicious-looking innocence. "After all, you tied me to a bed: You had to know what I might assume-"

For a moment she looks like she's going to hit him again but she manages to stop herself. It's probably the gleeful smile he shot her that gave away how much he wanted  _that._ Instead she moves away and picks up the very fire-whip she was just threatening him with. It hisses as she releases its length, glowing wickedly in the pale morning light. Despite himself Loki's heart thuds looking at it, reliving the memory of Surter's last use of it. The Muspelheim King took it to him three days before his and Sigyn's wedding, when the evil old bastard discovered Sigyn asleep in Loki's bed. Never mind that they were both fully clothed, that nothing happened. Never mind that Loki and she were pledged to one another, their love as determined and fearless as only two children's can be.  _Surter had beaten him to within an inch of his life._ Sigyn notes the way he looks at the weapon and this time it's her turn to smile viciously.

_She remembers that morning too, Loki doesn't doubt it one bit._

"Recall this, do you?" she demands. "But then I suppose you would do. It was only used on  _you_  the once, but still. " Loki tries to shrug where he's lying, but he can't pull such nonchalance off.  _It's damn annoying, being this bound_.

"I barely remember that morning, sweet," he says. "There have been so many since you."

Sigyn's look is pitying. "You should never lie about such things to an intimate of your mother dunachai. And besides-" she leans down, her face mere inches from his again- "You talk in your sleep."

Humiliation rises like a wave in Loki then, overwhelming as a tidal wave. So he'd been talking and she'd heard him, knew him to be dreaming of her.  _Stupid, foolish heart to remember, stupid, foolish heart to still care._ That same tinderbox rage rises in him and he snarls at her. Tries to pull himself away from the bed with all the strength he has. But Sigyn shakes her head and pulls away, her expression more calculating than he might have expected. Something tugs at Loki's memory, something he hasn't felt in years. Because Sigyn was never a great liar, at least not to him, and that look tells him that she's tense. It belatedly occurs to him that she might be trying to distract him, for she's never been as cruel to him as she has been this morning. She's never threatened him with violence for no reason before. She's been harsh and forceful, this is true, but she's never been malicious or mean to him.

_And some part of him knows that she has more right to do so than most._

Hot on the heels of that realisation he hears Eru clatter in through the house's front door. He can tell by the sound of her footsteps that it's her though he can't see her yet, and he can tell from their speed that the girl's running as if a bildshnipe were on her tail. Her breath is coming in gasps, her childish breath nearly sobbing. She darts into his room and he sees Sigyn go to her, wrapping her arms around her and kissing her cheek. "What is it, pet?" Sigyn murmurs. "What's frightened you?" The little one's started hiccupping, so great is her distress.

"Maithersheen," Eru hisses, "Maithersheen, the Chitauri are here. They say they want Loki Odinsson." She looks at him fearfully. "They say Asgard has fallen and we will be next."

For a moment Loki and Sigyn share a long, measuring stare, the trickster fairly certain his tormentors are bluffing but unable to prove it. He doubts that Asgard could have fallen without someone finding out. But then-

"Untie me," Loki says.

_He may be able to help with this._

And for once Sigyn does as he asks though she keeps her grip on her fire-whip firm.


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if anyone is reading this except BlueMurano- and thanks for the review, love- but if they are then apologies for the delay in updating. This one takes longer to write than the others. That said, I hope you enjoy this newest chapter.
> 
> Hobbits away, hey!

_**Disclaimer** _ _: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine._

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: CHILDREN**

_The Nornkeep_

_Interrogation Facility 3, Level 12_

"Tell me what you know," Karnilla whispers into Chauri's ear.

"Tell me what you know and I might just let you live."

And the Valkyrie leans in closer to her prisoner, a long, wicked-looking knife pressing against the alien's flesh. Opening the skin beneath her ear and drawing blood, the green-grey liquid sluicing down her blade to spatter against the ground. Chauri kneels, spine pinned backwards and wrists bound to her ankles as the Asgardian towers over her. Her throat exposed from her position, both of her eye swollen shut. But though she is in so much pain she shouldn't be able to move she smiles up at her tormentor-

"My father will rip your heart still beating from your chest and eat it, little Valkyrie," she whispers.

Her expression is ecstatic.

"And when he's done he will give me your people as my playthings. The diversions I found with Loki Odinsson will be nothing to what I do to you. The Valkyrie Nation and its children's children will be my toys for as long as they draw breath, Daughter of Nornheim. And there is naught you can do to spare them their fate…"

And with that Chauri smiles more widely and leans back, presenting her throat more fully to Karnilla. Showing as plainly as she can do that she fears nothing from torture by the Norns. Karnilla swears and moves away, reaching for another blade and wracking her mind for some other method. She has tried every torment she knows on the alien and she still has yet to gain a single clue to what the Chitauri have planned. As she moves she turns her back to Chauri, for the prisoner has been confined to the spot in which she kneels using magic.  _Magic and a mother-chord, the two blocks on which all the Norns' power stands_. And yet, as Karnilla looks away from Chauri the alien's smile widens ever more, her lips moving as if speaking to someone only she can hear. Blue moving through her black eyes, a light as pale and lovely as the glow of the Tessaract's light. By the time Karnilla turns back to her the prisoner has already slipped her bonds. Taken a knife. Held it against her tormentor's skin. "I've always wanted an apprentice," Chauri mutters. "Let's see how you do…"

She slashes her blade downwards but Karnilla won't do her the honour of giving her a scream…

* * *

_While At The Same Time,_

_On Asgard,_

"What the Hell was that?"

And Clint jumps away from Tasha, his shot glass slipping from his fingers. The sound of distant fire as weird and disjointed in the Realm Eternal as it would be back home, the sound of a camp scrambling to get battle ready pretty much exactly the same for all that they're on another world. Romanova jumps to her feet-  _still better able to hold her vodka than him after all these years,_  Clint muses- and pushes away from him, her better reflexes serving her well as she darts to the window. Her eyes scanning the horizon though there's nothing to be seen. By the time she's standing someone's at the door and pushing it open: Bruce's head pops around the frame, followed by Steve's, then Tony's. Stark pushing his way inside, half his Iron Man suit already on.

"You hear that?" Rogers says and Clint notes he's already in the suit too, carrying his shield before him, the new sword Frigga gave him when they arrived held out.

_Seems Cap's eager to fight the Asgardian way, whether Darcy would approve or not._

Tasha nods. "We heard it, just don't know what it means, Cap. But-" She darts over to one of the wall panels and pulls it open, starts barking words into it that Clint can't understand but recognises as Asgardian.  _Tash always did pick languages up quicker than him._ After a moment a voice on the other end of the line barks back and Tasha nods, apparently satisfied with that answer. "We're to head to the Throne Room," she says, "Asgard is under attack. Frigga's massing her troops there."

"They couldn't have told us that in the All-Speech?" Tony grouses.

"Makes no sense to use a code that everyone understands when you're trying to be stealthy, Stark," Clint fires back, and he has that rarest of pleasures, the feeling of having gotten one over on Iron Man. Tony actually pouts, making the rest of the team grin. "But we're burning daylight, let's get our ass collective ass into gear and head for that throne room-"

And with that Earth's mightiest heroes file out of Clint's quarters.

They're moving so quickly they don't even notice the guard following in their wake… And they certainly don't notice the greenish tint to his skin…

* * *

_And In Sigyn's Manor_

I must have misplaced my sanity somewhere, Sigyn thinks as she unbinds Loki.

_But then, sanity has never exactly been my strong suite where my dunachai is concerned._

Not that she can really afford to concentrate on that right now. After all, if Eru's report is right then there is no time to waste: Asgard has fallen and Nornheim may be next. But still, she can't help but wonder whether she's doing the right thing. There's no guarantee that Loki won't disappear in the coming chaos, taking whatever information he has gleaned from his time in her home with him. Putting all of her sister Valkyries and their families at risk, making the very people she has sworn to protect more vulnerable than ever. And yet, Sigyn can't find it in herself to keep him bound. After all, she took his case believing he had some good in him, that he could save himself.  _Why bother doing that if she's unwilling to put it to the test?_ Besides, if nothing else, leaving him tied up when the planet is under attack would be tantamount to a death sentence-

And while many may see it as all he deserves, she has to believe that there is more to his destiny- more to him- than that.

_And if she never gives him the chance to prove it then how will anyone ever know?_

So she removes the mother-chord from him with swift, sharp precision. Trying not to notice the feel of his body beneath her hands as she does so, trying to ignore the way the brush of his bare skin against hers sets something low and hungry murmuring in her belly.  _Because of course_ , she grouses to herself,  _he would choose_ _ **this**_ _morning to kiss her for the first time since their wedding. Of course he would choose_ _ **this**_ _morning to remind her how wonderful touching him felt the one time she needs all her faculties intact._

And yet…

She can't bring herself to regret it. She won't.

As if reading her thoughts she feels Eru bump against her elbow then. The girl looking between her and her prisoner- who has mercifully turned his back to them to straighten his clothes- her eyes narrowed and suspicious. Sigyn shoots the girl her best innocent look and instantly Eru realises what happened. A sly grin breaking across her face as she stares at Loki's back with what can only be feminine appreciation, the amusement a welcome change from her earlier, worried tears. She opens her mouth to say something- probably cheeky, for Sigyn must allow the lass has far more sauce in her than she did at that age- but rather than letting her speak Sigyn holds up a silencing hand, telling her in no uncertain terms that speaking her thoughts aloud will have consequences.  _Dire consequences_. Without breaking eye-contact she directs her next words to Loki's back. "There are men's clothes in my washing closet, if you wish to change," she tells him. "Some of them should fit you, and all of them are clean."

It's a minute thing, only noticeable to one who knows him well, but just for a second he freezes, obviously perturbed by the notion that she has men's clothes in her home. It's not all that strange, most Valkyries keep something to let their prisoners change clothes and wash but he's not to know that. He walks quickly through to the washing-closet, head down, and Eru frowns, perhaps noticing his discomfort. But before she can say anything Sigyn tells her to run and find her weapons bag. Sending the girl out of the room before she can become suspicious of anything else or share her thoughts aloud. As soon as he hears her leave Loki re-enters from the washing-closet, a long, dark green shirt hanging on his shoulders, his hair unbound and in urgent need of making a brush's acquaintance. For a moment Sigyn freezes too, painfully aware that the last time she saw him in such a state of undress she was nineteen and hiding in his wardrobe while Thor demanded to know where his brother had been all night. In the silence Loki looks up, their gazes colliding, and without a word they both look away simultaneously.

"My hands were damaged when I fought you the last time," he says softly. "I'll need help with these buttons." A twist of what might be a smile. "Unless, of course, you wish me to face the Chitauri naked-"

"Distraction can be helpful in battle," Sigyn says, more to herself than anyone.

Loki leans in, whispers in her ear. "You're more of a distraction than I'll ever be, sweet-" he murmurs. "Now be a dear and cover me up."

Sigyn does not doubt for a moment that he could do the damn things up if he chose to but, in the absence of Eru to help and knowing she can't afford the time an argument would take, she does as he asks. Bringing the two sides of the shirt together- more tightly around the throat than necessary- and quickly buttoning them up. Doing her best not to touch off his skin as she does so. Her mouth suddenly dry though she does not wish to think about why that might be. As she works he leans into her and whether it's unconscious or not- _again, she has her doubts_ \- he brings his lips closer and closer to her forehead, his hands clenched together as if he's trying to keep them to himself. Sigyn keeps her eyes trained on the shirt, unwilling to look up at him; one glance at her expression will tell him how divided she feels right now and no good can come from that. She does the shirt up quickly and darts into her washing-closet to find him a cloak and helm. By the time she returns he seems to have recovered himself, at least that's what it looks like. He's looking around as if searching for something and despite herself she asks what it is.

"Have you neither brush nor comb in this hovel?" he asks, and she can hear the irritation in his voice, the harshness. He's uncomfortable.

Somehow, knowing he's as discomfited as she centres her. She hands him her comb with a flourish. "Here," she says. "Beautify yourself: I have to find my weapons." She throws him a sarcastic look. "After all, my dunachai, someone has to protect that pretty face."

She goes to move and his arm snakes out, twining around her waist. The flesh feels cold against her, colder than she remembers. "Won't you do it for me, sweet?" he asks, and his tone has the most peculiar sound to it, as if he's trying to be mocking but can't quite manage it. It reminds her- It reminds her of how he used to talk to her, once upon a time, when he wished to speak of something painful and did not have the words. The tone and her remembrance sets something peculiar flip-flopping in Sigyn's belly, set a thrill shivering up her spine. For some traitorous part of her wants to do just that, wants to comb his hair and help him wash, wants to do all the things for him that they used to do for one another back when they were still betrothed.

But that is impossible, and she knows it.

_They're not that boy and girl anymore._

So, taking a deep breath, Sigyn pulls away from him. She's done more difficult things before, she knows, but right now she can't remember when.  _And she will not give him control of this situation, no matter how he bloody looks in that shirt_. She sees disappointment, then hurt and then anger flare in his face but she forces herself to remain impassive. He made a play for dominance and it didn't work, she needn't encourage him to do more. She's absolutely no use to either he or Eru if she's not concentrating on the matter at hand. For a distracted Valkyrie in a war is no Valkyrie at all.

_Any warrior knows that._

So she shoots him a sour look. "Get yourself cleaned up," she says, "and then get ready to depart for the Nornkeep. Try anything untoward with either myself or Eru on the way there and I will make you pay."

And with that she turns on her heel, making for her weapons room, her fingers itching for the feel of her fire-whip- Itching  _not_  to remember the feel of those short buttons beneath her fingers. She only makes it about three paces before there's an incredibly loud bang, followed by an smack, and then the wall of her home explodes inwards in a shower of wood and sparks. The force of it knocking her down onto her belly, the strength of it forcing the air from her lungs. She only has time to think one word-  _Eru-_ and then Loki's on top of her, his body shielding her. That cold flesh pressed all over hers now in a way she can't ignore. She looks up to see Karnilla standing before her, a weapon trained upon the both of them. "You're going to the Chitauri," the Valkyrie says. "Both of you. The Norns sent me to make sure."

"I think not," Loki answers, the scent of hex-craft and anger wafting through the room now.

And with that both he and Sigyn disappear in a hiss of magic and power and light.


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Shadowpaths

**_**Disclaimer** _ _:_ ** _This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine. Thank for her review go to MuranoBlue, lovely to hear from you again, love. Hope you're still enjoying this. And with that said, on with the story..._

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: SHADOWPATHS**

"Take me back."

Sigyn tries to pull away from him, setting her skin aflame to do it.

"Take me back to Eru," she snaps, "I will  _not_  leave my child behind-"

And she twists in Loki's arms, pulling away from him. The fact that they're in the middle of a transportation spell-  _and Loki is thus in need of his concentration_ \- doing nothing to dissuade her. The fact that he has just saved her life apparently something for which she feels not even the slightest hint of gratitude.  _I should have left her to be bloody killed by Chauri,_ Loki thinks angrily.  _I should have left her to die, her_ _ **and**_ _her brat._ As he thinks so he snarls, tightening his hold on her, trying to keep control of the shadowpath they're travelling long enough to deposit them somewhere safe. Reminding himself that though Chauri may now have Eru in her grasp it's unlikely she'll kill the child yet.  _She_ _'_ _s worth something to the Chitauri alive, after all; A Valkyrie_ _'_ _s daughter is the sort of collateral you just can_ _'_ _t buy. And if she were interested in a full-frontal attack, she would not have come to Sigyn's house wearing Karnilla's face_.

But though he tells himself this he feels some stirring of what might be conscience. The child is, after all, an innocent, and Sigyn is hardly likely to be impressed that he left her behind. As if reading his thoughts Sigyn makes another try for freedom, clawing at his skin, the pain she causes very nearly derailing his magic entirely-

He manages to make contact with their destination just in time, setting them down inside the cave where he spent his sick night after Chauri had poisoned him.  _It_ _'_ _s the nearest place he could make contact with._

They both skid into being inside the cavern, their limbs tangled together, their bodies pressed one on top of the other, and despite himself and his worries about Eru, Loki has to allow that there are far less pleasant ways to travel than this.

Not that he gets to think about that for long. For within seconds Sigyn has struggled to her feet, kicking him out of the way to do it and trying to summon magic of her own to escape him. The fact that she has never had his talent with wayfaring magic apparently something she is deciding to ignore. To Loki's consternation Sigyn opens her mouth to mutter some sort of incantation-  _the simplest, most easily-tracked travelling spells_ _ **always**_ _involve incantations-_ but before she can do so Loki grabs her again.  _He will not have her giving their location away to Chauri, even if Sigyn doesn't realise that that's what she's about to do._

Using the greater height he manages to grab her arms and pin them to her sides, her worry about Eru no doubt the reason for her carelessness: He cannot imagine such a tactic working under any other he has a grip on her he knocks them both to the ground, managing to pin her. His arm pressed against her throat to quiet her, making it hard for her to bring in air. She's never once allowed him to get a good enough grip on her to do so, and the moment he feels her body beneath hers he knows why. There's very little chance for her to get out of this without his help, he thinks somewhat smugly.

 _She really is quite helpless in his grip_.

And as if suddenly seeing the hopelessness of her situation, Sigyn slowly stops struggling. Stares up at Loki with wide, amber eyes, her body going lax beneath his. For a second they just stare at each other, both of them, he imagines, remembering the last time they were in this position.  _That too had involved travelling shadowpaths,_ he muses,  _this time between his room on Asgard and hers on Muspelheim._

Though it is unwanted the memory of being wrapped in her arms blooms within his mind, so intoxicating it might as well be narcotic. The emotions that go along with it rising like a riptide in his chest. Because he has kissed her once already this day, has remembered what she tastes like. The thrill of adrenaline, the rush of protectiveness that saving her brought on, that has yet to dissipate and if she keeps staring at him like that he thinks it never will. As if unable to help herself Sigyn's eyes flick down to his lips and Loki has to smile, knowing where her thoughts are going. She was always so easy to read, her desire for him so obvious, and for a boy who spent his life being second choice in everything that had been a truly wonderful thing. She shifts beneath him-  _the friction is delicious_ \- and licks her lips, still staring up at him. Tilts her head sideways and raises it, her amber eyes serious and grave. Acting on instinct Loki leans down, his own mouth suddenly dry, the desire to meet hers halfway so tantalising-

He brushes his nose gently against hers, just once, and she sighs at the contact.

"Dunachai," she whispers, "My dunachai…"

His lips meet hers as she twists his hair between her fingers and just for a moment everything-  _everything-_  is right in Loki's world.

The kiss is soft, sweet, gentle. Drugging. Everything he remembered it should be. Everything he'd hoped it could be again. Sigyn's lips opening beneath his, her tongue sliding across his. Her grip on his hair and nape tightening, tension twisting his Valkyrie's little fingers into knots. Tugging it so tightly it brings a welcome flash of pain. Loki sighs into her mouth, smiling, his fingers sliding down her side-  _She always liked that_ \- and tickling her. His smile matching hers as he kisses her, their bodies moulding one to one. "Sweet," he whispers, "Sweet, stop fighting me. Can't you see I'm doing this for your own good..?"

For a moment he thinks she must agree for she says nothing. Merely leans into him more thoroughly and kisses him more. And then…

_Then…_

"Idiot." She slaps him across the cheek. Hard. 

"Big-headed, self-obsessed,  _easily-led_ idiot."

And suddenly Sigyn knees him in the stomach, pushing him off her and forcing herself to her feet. Kicking him in the ribs for good measure, her skin aflame just to add in a little bit of extra hurt. He's so dazed by the what she's done that she gets approximately four steps before he manages to get a grip on her again, his hands winding through her hair, closing around her shoulder. Yanking her back with enough force to smash her body into his, the impact knocking them both messily off balance and nearly forcing them back to the ground. But this time Sigyn doesn't allow him to gain the upper hand, instead opening her mouth to speak her travelling spell before he can stop her. It belatedly occurs to Loki that if he doesn't want to keep this up indefinitely then he's going to have to find some way to calm her down.

"Sigyn," he gasps, "Sigyn, I need you to stay here-"

"I don't care what you need," she snarls at him. "You left my daughter back there, Loki, and I intend to set her free-"

He can't permit her do that. He knows he can't. But if he tells her that he knows it was Chauri and not Karnilla who came to her home then he knows she'll never leave Eru where she is.  _And he will not risk her life like that_. Loki does not  _like_  lying to Sigyn on general principles, no matter what role she is playing in his life; He watched her father lie and manipulate her so much when they were children that he has little stomach to do so now.  _It's one of the few things that still feels… wrong to him._ But if it is for her own good then he will mislead her, will even leave young Eru to Chauri's tender mercies-

 _For it is only Eru's mother he loves,_ he tells himself,  _and not the girl she's adopted._.

He starts caring about anyone besides Sigyn, and he'll go back to being that mewling, foolish dupe who so mourned the loss of his brother Thor.

And it is the memory of that loss which finally hardens him. Persuades him that what he is doing is necessary, that what he can do  _should_ be done. So he schools his voice to calmness, doing his best to sound reasonable. He is not sure whether it will work, as well as Sigyn knows him, but he knows he has to try.

"Look," he says, "your friend the Norns sent to find me, do you believe she will harm Eru?"

Sigyn shakes her head, slowing. "No," she says, cautiously. "Even if the Ladies Three believed that I were helping you, they would not take it out on my child…"

He makes his smile as trust-worthy as possible. At this he sees Sigyn frown and he realises, with a jolt, that she can read his false facial expressions still.  _Interesting._ Clearly he will have to try something more in line with how she views him now. So he makes his facial expression sharper, more shark-like.

_If she wishes to see The Butcher of Midgard then that's what she'll get._

"So what will happen to little Eru, when her Auntie Karnilla takes care of her?" he asks mockingly. "Which will it be, do you think Sigyn? Thumb-nails or the rack?"

His insult to the Valkyries has the desired effect: She bristles. "My sisters would never harm an innocent child," she spits. "We are not like you."

 _A direct hit_ , he thinks,  _if she feels she has to defend herself_. His smile widens. "Well if that's the case then why are you fighting me?" He makes his voice nonchalant. "Don't you trust your fellow warriors with your daughter? Or are you so terrified to be alone with me that you'll use her as an excuse?" He brushes his finger across his lip, as if he can still feel the touch of her mouth on his. He has that rarest of pleasures as he does so, that of seeing Sigyn Nya'Vweren blush.

"You see, sweet," he whispers, leaning into her, "I think you are simply rattled by what I just did to you." He leans in closer, makes a show of breathing in her scent. Her expression positively drips loathing but she does not move away. "Because if you weren't frightened of being alone with me then you wouldn't be using that poor child of yours as an excuse-"

"Eru is  _not_ an excuse." Her hand whips out to slap him again and he dodges it, a first for him. He keeps his grip on her wrist even as she sets her skin alight, burning him, and pulls her closer into him. She glares at him without a hint of fear and suddenly, for no reason he wishes to fathom, he can feel his heart hammering in his chest. Nobody looks at him like this anymore.  _Nobody._

The thought brings a wave of sadness he cannot will away.

But he will not dwell on that. "Oh no, sweet," he says instead, "you can't punch your way out of this one. Any more than you get to kiss your way out. So answer my question: Do you believe Eru will be hurt, or no?"

Sigyn shows her teeth, practically growling. But she still sullenly bites out a negative and Loki grins. "Then you allow that your daughter is not in danger?" he tells her. Though he know the opposite is true he feels a perverse thrill of pleasure at making her agree. Sigyn grunts something which might be a yes. Nods her head to him. By now she looks positively murderous, and he feels genuinely grateful she hasn't her fire-whip to hand right now.

"She will not be harmed," she grits out. "I will allow that you are correct in that. But it still doesn't mean I should or would just let you run loose-"

"Run loose?" he says. "Whoever said anything about running loose?"

She narrows her eyes suspiciously at him. "Isn't that what all this is about?"

Loki smiles at her words, he has to. Because he never thought, even as he managed to pull her away from her invaded home, that Sigyn would let him go free. He never thought for one moment that saving her would mean his incarceration coming to an end. In fact, in the moment he stepped on the shadowpath which brought them here he had actually had another plan in mind, a plan nobody would believe of him. A plan which everyone would assume must be a trick. A trap.

_Except that it isn't anymore._

For he intends to find out whether Asgard has, in fact, fallen. He intends to find out whether his former home has fallen to Chauri's Emperor and his ilk. And in order to do that he will have to walk the shadowpaths he and Sigyn walked when they were children. He will have to revisit his past, and sneak into Asgard as they once did. He turns to smile at Sigyn and she narrows her eyes some more, clearly still suspicious of him-

And with that, he takes her hand and calls upon his magic, opening up a shadowpath to Muspelheim.

_For he may yet be able to help Asgard, and that destination is the perfect place to start…_


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Warzone

_**Disclaimer** _ _: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine. Many apologies for the delay in updating: I got stuck in an (admittedly, Sherlock Holmes-shaped) rut and just couldn't focus. But here I am and I hope you enjoy it, and a belated thanks to MuranoBlue for their reviews. Oh, and I should mention this is an AU now. Those of you who have seen Thor: The Dark World will know why… But, that said, on with the story..._

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**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: WARZONE**

The journey from Nornheim to Muspelheim is more… eventful, than Loki would have liked.

_And by "eventful," he means, "extraordinarily perilous."_

The shadowpath they're walking is dangerous, unstable from lack of use. Like anything created by magic, this tunnel through space requires constant upkeep, maintenance and energy if it is to stay in good working order, and this one hasn't been used in centuries, not since before this and Sigyn's betrothal was broken and King Surter ejected him from his palace.

So it is little wonder that the path surges and twists drunkenly about, making Loki think of nothing so much as being trapped in the innards of some giant, fabulous beast. The movement forces he and Sigyn into a crouching, lurching pace as they try desperately to clear the short distance between the entrance at Nornheim and the end-point, the closet in Sigyn's childhood bedroom in the Fire Palace. It should not be difficult: shadowpaths are designed to be easy to use and well-night instantaneous. And they were his speciality, when he was still his mother's apprentice: That is how he was able to sneak out of Asgard for all those years without Heimdall seeing him. How he used to sneak in to visit his lovely Sigyn in her bedchamber, once upon a time. Unfortunately, though, he underestimated just how dilapidated this one actually was-

He hears a popping sound then, feels a flash of some viscous, dark liquid spatter against his back and shoulders and he realises with a start that this is the path's outer wall being breached. What he's feeling is the wounded remains of magic drained of its power, the debris left over from conjured objects once the power which has animated them has rolls his eyes, irritated.  _Nonsense like this never bloody happens to_ _ **Thor**_ _,_ he thinks angrily.

_But then, Thor never bothers to build nonsense like this in the first place, so he supposes he shouldn't be surprised._

Whether he should have been surprised or not, however, is now immaterial. The tunnel lunges again, throwing he and Sigyn almost to their knees.  _It's at this point that he starts swearing under his breath in the All-Speech._ But Sigyn's hand comes into his at that, the fingers wrapping warmly around his own. He looks down to see her staring worriedly at the fissure in the path's surface, clearly aware of the problem, and he realises with a surprise that she's murmuring some sort of incantation under her breath, trying to repair it.  _Healing spells were something at which his sweet always excelled_.

She is unsuccessful however; Other popping sounds are starting, behind them and all over the tunnel walls to the side of them. That cold, resinous substance spattering against their shoulders, their backs, the force of each eruption growing as the tunnel comes ever more rapidly apart. The walls are thinning now, shadows and stars showing behind them. What was once a magical skin now looks more like a membrane, and Loki knows that in a few moments it will have the thinness of silk or air.

_Which will be, he has to admit, ever so slightly catastrophic._

So he struggles, tries to force himself forward. As he does so the tunnel writhes again, lurching drunkenly and nearly knocking both of them over.

"We have to get out of here," he mutters, pulling Sigyn towards him.

Her arms go around him, fingers gripping tightly on his shirtsleeves in a vain effort to stay upright.

"Your powers of deduction never fail to astound," she snaps, ducking her head as another flash of dried-up magic spatters against her. "But I'm open to suggestions, dunachai."

Another spurt of liquid hits her, setting her teeth chattering: The water is icy cold and though it does not bother Loki he knows the temperature will harm a fire-demon.

Worry and its unwelcome attendant, guilt, flash within him but he pushes them both away.

"It's just a few more steps," he snaps back. "It's not my fault those short little legs won't carry you-"

He feels her nails dig sharply into his flesh, there at his ribs, her grip painful. "Now is  _not_  the time to share your feelings about my stature, Loki," she mutters. "This is your creation, it won't respond to my magic. Clearly,  _you_  will have to fix this." She narrows her eyes at him. "So do so. Or so help me, I'll hunt you from beyond the grave."

And with that the shadowpath lunges again, more wildly this time. She snarls, the sound angry and frustrated and more than a little frightened this time, though Loki knows she'd die rather than admit it.  _She has so much pride, his Valkyrie_. He looks down at her face and it's pale, her rose-gold flesh drained of colour. Her small frame pressed tightly, almost distractingly against his. For a moment he can't force away the memory of the last time he saw her like this, the night her father broke their betrothal and she risked herself to save his life. The night she got between the person she feared most in all the Nine Realms and told him she would take Loki's punishment in his place, if Surter would just let him live. Something flickers painfully inside him, something he has long thought banished. It's the same something that stayed his hand for just a moment when he was fighting Thor on Stark's roof, the same thing that flickers within him whenever he remembers is mother's face as he was put into his cell. Loki does not wish to name this feeling, does not wish to examine it. If pressed, he will never admit to feeling it, or even understanding what it might mean.

But he knows what it is: The will to protect. The desire to do right by another.

 _He dragged Sigyn into this mess, now he can drag her out of it_ , he thinks.

So without a moment's warning he grabs Sigyn, one arm swinging down to dart underneath her legs and pick her up. His other arm swinging her until she's more over his shoulders, her body resting heavily against his collarbone, back and upper arms. She yelps in surprise at his action but it does not slow Loki down:  _They could argue about this or he could do it, and he knows which option he prefers._ Once he has a good grip on her, he draws what's left of his power to him, forms a shield around the both of them. He could ask for her help with it, but trying to cooperate in these sorts of situations can get messy and is definitely not advised. At feeling the shield's presence, Sigyn's muttered objections abruptly cease. She must guess this is a more optimal use of their talents because she finally decides to stay still.

Loki takes off at a fierce pace then, running for the end of the tunnel. With both of them essentially wrapped in magic, a single object, they do less damage to the shadowpath than they previously had been doing. As he runs, he can feel the tunnel collapsing around him. The magic is ugly, unwanted, dead to him, and for some reason that makes him feel strangely…bereft. Because this is one of the last things left from his betrothal to Sigyn, one of the only reminders still in existence of that happy, golden time with her… And now it's falling apart around him, nearly killing them both in the process.  _Loki really can't help but feel that this might serve as a metaphor for the turn his life has taken._

Rather than ponder that, however, he forces himself forward. The ground beneath his feet is starting to turn transparent, diaphanous, stars glimmering gently through the veil as he darts the last few steps to the end of the path. With a final burst of speed he mutters the exit password for the shadowpath, propelling himself and Sigyn forward. There is a flash of wet, cold darkness as he and Sigyn move from the tunnel back into normal space and suddenly they're tumbling head over heels through the door of a closet and onto the floor of the room beyond. They skid, roll, coming to a halt with Sigyn beneath him and Loki on top of her-

For a moment they just stare at one another, breathing hard, and then suddenly Loki feels a sharp, hard blow to the back of his head, the force of it enough to make him see stars.

He snarls, forcing himself to his feet, eyes searching around for some sort of weapon. He used a lot of power to get them here and while he might be able to conjure a glamour of something to defend himself, he will not be able to give it weight or force.  _So he supposes he will just have to do this the mortal way._  His eye falls upon a heavy lamp, more than enough to make a cudgel, and he lifts it. Hefts it in his fingers and swings it heavily around, determined to stop his attacker dead. But even as he does so Sigyn moves to stay his hand, her own pressing down on his weapon.

"Stand down," she's saying, and Loki is not sure whether she's talking to him or to the assailant he still hasn't seen.

Loki senses rather than sees something move swiftly towards him, the force of its approach displacing air, heating it-

Sigyn takes the lamp- his hand and all- and swings it upwards, smashing it into the cheek of his assailant. He feels the impact through his wrist, his fingers-

And old woman, her flame-threaded hair now faded to pale blue with age, darts out of the way, a long staff swinging a wide arc before her, swearing loudly in the Kyant as she goes.

"Stand down, Lanacham," Sigyn says, "Do you not recognise me?"

The older fire-demoness-  _Lanacham, apparently_ \- nods curtly, her eyes still resting on Loki. The look she shoots him is pure spite. "Aye, my Lady," she says, "I know you. I've known you, my fine lass, since you were a girl." She hisses in Loki's direction, shows him her teeth, even as she curtsies to her fellow demon. "But I do not recognise  _him_ , not as a friend of this world. Not after what his kind has done to us-"

"And what would that be?" Slowly, keeping herself between the older woman and Loki, Sigyn moves to put her weapon down. She holds up her hands in placation, every movement reassuring and calm. If Loki had his way then he'd just knock the old woman out and be done with it-  _They have to get on to Asgard-_ But he doesn't think Sigyn will like that and he doesn't think he will like trying to persuade her to allow him to go home if she's feeling miffed.

_So he supposes will have to hold his peace._

Lamacham shoots her former lady a disbelieving glance though. "Know you not what Asgard have done to us?" she asks. "Do you hear no news on Nornheim, my Lady, that you profess ignorance and bring this creature-" she jabs her staff vindictively at him. Loki makes sure to shoot her his brightest smile- "here?"

Sigyn shakes her head slowly. "We seek Asgard," she says, "We need to get there: they're in trouble. The creatures which attacked Midgard, the Chitauri, have attacked them, and have attacked Nornheim too. We need to sound the alarm, light up the watch-towers as our fore-mothers once did. Gather all the Nine Realms to defend us as they are bound in fealty to the Norns-"

Lamarcham shakes her head, holding up her hands to silence her former princess. "Why should we do that, my Lady," she asks, "When Asgard's armies attack here?"

She shakes her head, shoots Loki another evil glare.

"Do you even think we have the troops to spare, considering what's happening out there?"

And she gestures to the window to their right, a massive bay one which opens out onto the palace gardens. Loki and Sigyn both move towards it, knowing it to be shielded (as is the rest of the palace). Knowing too that they will be able to see all the way to the capital city, Tyinavore, without any help. They step onto the balcony and as they do the smells and sounds of Sigyn's palace waft to Loki, nearly overwhelming him. Reminding him once again of that time he was happy, that time which will never come again. Loki leans forward, resting his weight on the balcony's surface: He can see flowers and trees, golden with flame even in the darkness outside, their borders and shapes like etchings on a map made long ago. But that does not hold his attention. In fact, it cannot.

And as soon as Sigyn joins him he knows she sees it too.

For in the sky above him he can see a battle raging, dragons and aerial troops and other were-beasts battling what clearly look like ships of Asgard-

He looks at Sigyn, and Sigyn looks at him, both understanding what's happening here without having to say anything.

"You have to hand it to them," Loki says, and it pains him to do it, "But Thanos and his Chitauri do appear to have thought this through."

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There now, hope you enjoyed it. More frequent updates are on the way, even if I occasionally get distracted by Great Detectives... Hobbits away, hey!


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